


Far Above the World

by ReedMeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fake Character Death, Family Secrets, Gen, M/M, Mates, Mpreg, Multi, Other, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Scenting, Stiles Leaves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReedMeme/pseuds/ReedMeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets pregnant.  His father dies before he tells Derek.  This drives Stiles out of Beacon Hills, faking his own death, in hopes of being able to give his children some semblance of a normal life outside of the supernatural angst he's been through.  </p><p>Years later, when he has finally become comfortable of the life he has built, his past catches up with him.  He finds out that life has continued on despite his absence, for better or for worse.  Worst of all he finds that all of his efforts might have been for naught as the very ones he sought to protect find themselves in the most dangerous of situations with their world hanging in the balance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Floating in a most peculiar way

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings everyone. The name's Meme... ReedMeme. This is my first fan fic (evah!), but this idea had been brewing in my head for some time until I finally decided to buckle down and write it out. 
> 
> Tags will change as the fic goes along. I've marked it as Mature despite nothing particularly mature happening in this chapter seeing as I have every intention of this story heading into more... adult territory. I'm tinkering with the idea of "explicit", but we'll see as this story goes along. 
> 
> This story has only been self edited. I've read around about this whole "beta-ing" thing... not really quite sure what that is, but I suppose I can tell you that that hasn't been done. I'll try to post new chapters as often as possible.
> 
> Chapter 1's Music in ear: David Bowie - Space Oddity

 

     The world was a calm place.

     The sky, the colour of cerulean, was dusted by long wisps of white that hung below a bright, hot, sun. 

     Stiles drove his beat up van with the windows down and the music blaring loud.  His right hand loosely gripping the steering wheel as his left hung outside the window; patting the driver door to the tune of the song.  When he pulled into the nearly vacant parking lot, turning off the car with a switch, he reached towards the passenger seat and pulled out a pristine white apron before heading into the diner.  His steps were light, happy, and eager as he pushed the door open and jumped behind the counter. 

     "Hey sweetie."  A heavily made up middle aged woman greeted him as he entered the kitchen.  "You're almost late."

     "That's just the glass-half-empty way of saying I'm early."  He said with a wink and a smile as he pulled the apron over his head and began heating up the grill.  "You shouldn't be so pessimistic Sharon, it's not good for your complexion pretty lady." 

     Sharon let out a deep, raspy laugh as she rubbed her face.  "Well, it's alright as long as I have me my Mary Kay." 

     Sharon was a large woman with a large personality almost as large as her chest.  Deep blue mascara painted her face, her lips coloured with bright pink lipstick.  Her laugh was like a hyena's cackle, and the woman did love to laugh, while her bosom heaved with every guffaw.  Apparently she moved from somewhere in the south east, but she never did talk about her past much except for her three ex-husbands who, as she says, are all in prison for trying to kill each other. 

     "You all by your lonesome again today Shar?  Where's Emily?"  He asked, looking around for the faux-red head. 

     "I have no clue what the hell that girl's doing.  I talked to her two days ago and she hung up on me."  She grumbled.  "I've already told Dave, and that girl's in trouble, I tell you what.  She's as good as fired.  More trouble than she's worth.  And who's gonna pick up her slack, me, that's who." 

     Stiles nodded along, half-listening, while he prepped the kitchen for the start of the day, a small smile on his face.  He was used to the woman's rants by now, and had even grown to find them entertaining, if not comforting, and had become a highlight of his days.  Her complaints were mostly of a shallow nature, if not of things that were simple and mundane.  This was a fact that Stiles cherished, the normalcy of it all. 

     But as she said being shorthanded for the breakfast rush was a pain, at least for her.  Stiles kept up with the orders well enough.  The most complicated thing they served in the diner menu was poutine.  Apparently they put the dish on the menu when Celine Dion played a concert a couple of years back in Salt Lake City.  Of course the town was nowhere near there, but apparently the people of Summit, Utah, were big fans. 

     Ever since the new plant opened nearby, men from Enoch and Cedar City had come up for work.  Now a town that used to only have a bit more than a hundred people now played host to about five hundred.  It was good for the local economy mind you, but the locals, including Stiles, secretly found it frustrating.  Dave on the other hand was ecstatic with the rush of new customers, not that they had much in terms of choices.  There were only two diners in Summit, and Dave's was the closest to the plant. 

     At first Stiles was uncomfortable with the new rush of people in the town, paranoid about what it could bring.  But after several months passed by without incident he grew complacent, convinced that his bout of paranoia was unwarranted.  He knew no one from Enoch or Cedar City, and they did not know him.  Most of all the people were all just normal, run-of-the-mill men.  He told himself that not every town in the world was like Beacon Hills.  And that was just fine with him. 

     It had been six years since Stiles had left Beacon Hills; six years since he last saw his family and friends; six years since he had faked his own death.  But his priorities had changed and leaving was the best thing for all of them.  He had convinced himself of this.  For the most part.

     When the breakfast rush subsided, Stiles let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the counter.  He peeked out of the service hatch and counted the few people still left inside.  It was just old man Hicks sipping his coffee and reading a paper with Sharon leaning against the counter nearby playing angry birds. 

     "Hey Shar, I'mma take five before the lunch crowd."  Stiles called out. 

     "Okay hun."  She yelled back, not bothering to look up from her game, her thumb frantically stroking and tongue lolling out of her mouth.  "Oh, damn."

     Stiles chuckled as he made his way out through the back and towards his car to grab an early bite to eat before the midday rush.  Leaning on the hood of his car, he looked around himself as he picked at his lunch.  His eyes took in the world around him, and he told himself he was at peace, refusing to acknowledge the aching hole in his heart.    

 

***

     The next day Stiles woke with a start, sweat beading down his temples, his body soaked with sweat.  He could feel the hot caress of daylight on his skin.  He scrunched his eyes, stinging from the light, and buried his face in his hands.  Stiles hasn't had a dream like he just had in a little over a year, he's counted, and this particular one disturbed him just as well as the others.  Pushing himself out of bed he reached over for his cell and dialled a number. 

     "Hello?"  A chipper voice answered on the other line.  "Camp Chimpawa, this is Rachel speaking."

     "Hey Rachel, this is Robert Bates."  Stiles sighed, trying to stretch his sore muscles at the same time. "Just calling in to check on the kids."

     "Oh hey Robbie,"  Rachel responded happily. "Oh yeah, yeah, they're fine.  They're having breakfast at the hall right now.  You wanna talk to 'em cutie?"

     He considered that for a moment, working hard to stamp down the urge to become obsessive-stalker-dad.  He knew his kids wouldn't appreciate being dragged away from breakfast with their friends because their dad just wanted to hear their voices.  He let out another sigh, wearily this time. 

     "Nah, that's alright.  Not this time.  Just give me an update will ya?"

     "Aw, of course sugar."  She said brightly and began a rundown of all the things the kids had done in the camp. 

     Hikes, fishing, swimming, sing-a-longs, kayaking, camping, soap stone carving, baseball, cooking, etc...  hell, even their own play.  These were normal things, normal summer-time-children's-memories things, and it made Stiles smile. 

     Dirk, the youngest by three minutes, loved clay making and got a bit overboard when he ended up hogging most of the clay trying to make a giant dinosaur. 

     Ally, the oldest, got into a spot of trouble while they were rehearsing for their play when a boy suddenly kissed her in the cheek.  She pushed him back in shock, toppling the kid and making the boy cry. 

     While Luke, Stiles' middle child, had a tendency of running off into the woods by himself whenever they went on hikes.  The camp councillors usually found him with most of his clothes off with bits of dirt, mud, and leaves on his skin laughing maniacally from on top of a tree.

     But all in all, the children were fine and having the time of their lives.  This was the most important thing for Stiles, and the reason why he left everything behind.  But a piece of him ached at not having the children near him, even if the camp wasn't that far away.  But Stiles reminded himself that there were only three more weeks until camp ended and the kids came back.  Three more weeks until he could hold his children again.  Three more weeks of his kids enjoying their childhood, as they should.  Stiles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

     He ended the call with a heartfelt thanks and hung up before Rachel started flirting again.  Getting up he made his way to the bathroom and washed his face in the sink.  The cool water was a welcome feeling on his hot skin but when he felt the start of a tremor bubbling in his chest he gripped the edge of the sink tightly in his hands.  The images from the dream began to flood his mind, sparking memories of time long past that he wished to forget, bringing up a well of emotions that he had kept buried inside his heart.  It took some time before he could calm himself again, before his body stopped shaking, his heart stopped racing, and the man in his memories stopped breathing.  He let out a gasp and could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.  It had been a little over a year since he last dreamt of the time when his father died in his arms. 

     Looking up into the mirror he traced the faint pink scar just below his collar bone, and the long horizontal scar just below his navel that followed eight months later.  Shaking his head he shucked off his boxer-briefs and showered. 

     It was another sunny day in Summit.  The air was hot and dry and the sky was clear of clouds.  Music blared from Stile's van as he drove to work, left hand lazily hanging out of the driver's side window.  When he arrived at the diner he was greeted by a disgruntled Sharon lecturing an impassive Emily.  The great woman was already turning red as she babbled on about the irresponsibility of the young. 

     "Aw come on, we're not all irresponsible are we?"  Stiles smiled, trying to break the tension he walked into.

     "Oh no, not you honey.  You got your special circumstances.  Your an old soul, that's what you are."  She said without breaking stride and having even given Stiles a kiss on the cheek.  "But this one, she more useless than a hat in a hurricane."  

     "Yeah, yeah.  Look I already said I was sorry."  Emily said insincerely, chewing gum at the same time.  "My boyfriend just got back here from the rigs out east, and we had us a date weekend out at Cedar City.  He took me to Red Lobster and everything."

     "Weekend?  Weekend!"  Sharon's voice went up, her face turning a sharp shade of puce.  "You left on a Tuesday! (pronounced 'toos-dee')"

     Stiles left the women to their lively discussion on the appropriate definition of a weekend to prep the kitchen.  The day should have been the same as all the others.  It should have been simple, hot, tiring, yet normal.  The day should have been busy, but rewarding, and at the end of the day he should have been heading home at the edge of town and having a cold drink by himself on his deck looking out into the woods.  The day should have been like every day for the past three years.  A day when the sun set with everything being fine. 

     As it happened, this day ended with Stiles stepping out of the diner just past lunch time, his shift ending as the night cook Bobby took over, and getting tackled to the ground as he neared his car at the edge of the parking lot.

     Stile's first reaction was panic as he began to push, shove, and punch the body that had tackled and attached itself on to him on the ground.  He would have kept on going if it weren't for the tears that he felt sprinkle his neck, the deep wracking sobs that shook the chest on top of his, the desperate arms that clutched, carefully, yet tightly, around his body as well as the nearly incomprehensible teary words that came out of the man's mouth.

     "Stiles... Stiles..."  the voice sobbed. 

     Looking down he was greeted by a familiar flurry of dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes.  The eyes of a weeping Isaac Lahey. 

     Shock froze Stile's actions, freezing his face in a wide eyed confusion.  Stiles had enough presence of mind to be wary of the situation before him. 

     Trying to speak in between sobs, Isaac looked up at the face of the confused man he held before bubbling out in an impossibly heart wrenching mixture of desperation and happiness, "Stiles... you're alive." 

     The love that permeated those words, the longing, the pain of it, made Stiles' heart stop. 

     Neck arched, hands frozen mid punch at the blonde man's shoulder, their two bodies on the ground, Stiles looked into the other man's eyes and spoke the first words that came to mind. 

     "What... the hell?"

 

   

 

 

 

 


	2. I Try To Hide It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of Isaac and Juun. On their way to Salt Lake City, they stop by Vegas and end up in Summit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reception of the first chapter was nice, so here's another one to celebrate. It's twice as big in length, so I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> No severe adult content as of yet, seeing as this is still the set up of the story. But I hope you enjoy it regardless. 
> 
> Again, this is self edited. Post if there are any mistakes you notice so I can make the appropriate corrections.
> 
> Music in ear: Traffic Island - Day Without Air

     Isaac Lahey was a simple man in obvious ways.  He was upfront about what he liked and equally as vocal about the things he hated.  For a man who had been beaten down as a child, it was a curious thing how he wore his heart on his sleeve.  He was quick to attach himself to those he liked as much as it was to distance himself from the people he didn't.  Of course this was due to the ministrations of people he had come to count as family over the years.  Before he was turned, Isaac was a distant and withdrawn shell of a boy who had convinced himself that he existed outside of the world, outside of people.  He was that boy; the boy who hid his pain while screaming out for salvation inside his mind. At that time, he believed himself to be worth far less than the lowliest specimen on earth having been convinced that his misery was a justified price for a sin he never knew he committed. 

     The moment he was turned, he began to look at the world through different eyes.  The eyes of his wolf were sharp and critical, alight with the very ferocity that had been beaten down into the depths of his soul through years of abuse.  The bite was Isaac's salvation.  Back when he was first turned he never thought much about why Derek had chosen him for he was far too busy enjoying the benefits of his transformation.  Other than being faster and stronger than he was before, Isaac found that his wolf had given him the strength to finally speak his mind.  He found it an odd sensation having another thing inside of himself that was an "other"; something that was outside of who he was, of who he had ever known himself to be, but at the same time so intrinsically tied into his being that he could no longer define himself without it.  For Isaac, his wolf gave him the ability he had sought for when he was the beaten boy; the ability to put his heart and his life on the line for the future he yearned for.  This future was a life that would be full of friends, of lovers, of family.  To him, losing any of them would be like losing pieces of his heart. 

     Looking back on it all, a part of Isaac believes that Derek wished for the very same things; for friends, for family, for loved ones, even if he never could admit it out loud.  So when Stiles died, Isaac felt a terrible grief he had not felt since he was that boy.  They all grieved.  But Isaac knew that his grief, great as it was, could never compare to the anguish that Derek must have felt when he lost his mate.  So when Isaac scented Stiles for the first time in so many years, his heart stopped.  Here, in the dust strewn middle of nowhere, was the scent of a man he had long thought dead. 

     As it happens Isaac Lahey was never supposed to be in that town, in that place, at that time.  There was no reason for him to be there, to be anywhere near that diner in that small, random town in what Lydia Martin had dubbed as being part of the wastelands of America.  As it happens, he had his companion to thank for the change of plans.  Juun Yuna, the  dark-haired, short, thin, and almond-eyed girl assigned to accompany him to Salt Lake city had wanted to take the longer way around, driving south towards Las Vegas.  She had never been to the city of sins and had pestered Isaac into taking a massive detour to visit the city for a day.  As irritating as it was having to change their plans, to leave a day earlier than they should, Isaac could not refuse the girl.  Mainly due to her pestering, but partially due to the fact that he wanted to go as well. 

     Having only ever seen the city on screen, or read of it in books, his imagination was alight with the possibilities that the place held.  Derek himself was not opposed to the idea, as long as the detour would not affect them getting to Salt Lake city on time.  That's how the two wolves found themselves in Sin City, driving into town in a blue Volkswagen beetle, Juun vibrating in the passenger seat with excitement. 

     "Oh my god!  It's so awesome!"  She squealed.  "Look, it's the tooth guy from that hangover movie!"

     "You mean Hangover?"  Isaac smirked, but was ignored by the overly excited, vertically deficient werewolf. 

     "And those guys are the Avengers!"  She laughed as she stuck her head out of the window, waving and calling over to the men on the street. 

     Isaac roughly pulls her inside the car by her belt.  "Christ Juun, calm down!  We're in the inner lane, you could get impaled!"

     Juun just giggled gleefully in return, her eyes busy taking in the sites around her.  Everything about the city was overwhelming; the noise, the scents, the heat.  The moment they entered the strip, Isaac's nose was overwhelmed by the pungent scent of cigarette smoke.  He found it irritating and Isaac found himself sneezing and wheezing trying to rid his nose of the scent.  The stench was so strong that he could taste it on his tongue. 

     "Man, this city stinks."  He whined.

     "Oh, stop complaining.  We're in Vegas!"  Clambering out of the window once again, she raised her hands in glee and woot-ed, of all things.  Isaac just sighed and pulled Juun back in before a canary yellow Lamborghini zipped past in the lane next to her.       

     Despite it being early in the morning, there were many people out and about walking in the streets and the traffic was steady, if not busy.  Isaac's senses were beginning to be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of sensory triggers before him.  The buildings were huge, designed with obvious opulence in mind, their windows reflecting the light of the scorching hot sun.  The odd collection of architectural designs fascinated him and he marvelled at the sheer variety of them, such as those made with traditional styles in mind, to ones that imitated world famous sites such as the canals of Venice, the Eiffel tower, and even the pyramids of Egypt.  They passed by a grand fountain that was bursting with a water show, and they even saw pirates mock-fighting on a life sized pirate ship next to the sidewalk. 

     "As much as I love driving around the strip, where do you actually want to go?"  Isaac asked as they reached a stop light. 

     Juun, still vibrating in her seat, glanced around seriously as if she were seeking out a target before turning back to him, smiling devilishly.  Isaac was familiar with that look.  It was the predatory look that she got every time she thought of a plan that Isaac wouldn't like.  Shortly thereafter the two of them were standing in front of a grand pavilion made to look like the ancient buildings of Rome.  Juun clapped her hands rapidly with excitement. 

     "Yeah,"  Isaac began, rubbing the back of his neck.  "We can't afford to stay in this place." 

     Juun snorted a laugh.  "Oh please, we're just here for the casino."

     Isaac turned to his companion, raising a brow.  "It's way too early.  Wouldn't they be closed?" 

     Juun stared at Isaac as if he had some sort of mental handicap.  "We're on the strip, in Vegas.  The casinos are never closed."  She then skipped inside positively bursting with glee. 

     The interior of the building was just as impressive inside as it was out.  White and gold ceilings with gold and black detailing were held up by pink marble pillars.  The hall they entered was circular and symmetrically perfect.  Evenly spaced round chandeliers lined the ceiling, and in the centre stood four life like marble statues of women wearing stolas.  The floor was just as elegant with painted lines and murals of characters familiar in Roman literature.  There was one of a woman with a bow and arrow in hand that reminded Isaac of Allison.

     "Come on!"  Juun said, grabbing his hand and pulled him down a hallway marked 'Casino'. 

     The space certainly was grandiose, nothing like Isaac had ever seen in his life.  For a moment he was so overwhelmed by everything he saw that he forgot about the pervasive stench of smoke that seemed to fill the city.  They were briefly stopped by a man wearing a centurion costume who asked for their ID's.  Seeing as Juun looked like she was barely fourteen, Isaac wasn't exactly surprised.  After passing the intense scrutiny of the costumed man, Isaac was once again being pulled forward by the giggling, ecstatic werewolf. 

     Not minding where he was going, too busy looking at everything around him, he walked right into Juun who had stopped in front of an oval table where several men and women were playing poker.  Looking around briefly he found that indeed quite a few of the many poker tables were filled with people playing, even at such an early time of the day.  Before he could even blink, Juun took an empty seat in front of her.  Looking at a mark on the table, Isaac read that the buy in for the table was one hundred dollars. 

     Isaac stamped down the urge to drag the girl out of the table by force, knowing perfectly well that Juun had a tendency of doing what she wants outside of an alpha's orders.  Although to be fair to her, in this case it might have something to do more with Derek's order to "enjoy yourselves" than anything else.  After a few losing hands of the game, where almost all of the people in the table, except the dealer, were perfectly content on being quiet, Juun was down to her last one hundred and fifty dollars but suddenly delivered a miraculous comeback. 

     Isaac studied the girl intently and found her more quiet and focused than she normally was.  It took him a few moments to realize that she was using her Were senses to play the game.  Isaac bristled at the realization and cleared his throat loudly, wondering all the while if this counted as cheating.

     "Shh, quiet.  I'm trying to concentrate."  Juun snapped, irritated, before turning back to stare intently at her cards. 

     But Isaac knew exactly what the girl was doing.  She was focusing on specific senses, enhancing them as much as possible to overcome the loud noises, strong smells, or bright lights of the room.  Such a task would be difficult for many wolves, especially those turned, seeing as many Weres spend their time working hard to tune out the world at the risk of losing their sanity; particularly in places that was bursting with activity, like Vegas.  It took an enormous amount of control, not to mention skill, and strength of mind to not only be able to enhance a specific sense, but pick out specific things from the cacophony of sensations gained. 

     In his case, circumstances in the past had forced Isaac learn to perform such feats, and he did so now.  He let his senses expand, specifically his sense of hearing, surrendering control over to his wolf.  It wasn't long before he was bombarded by the burst of sound that filled the room; from footsteps, conversations, cell phones, electronic noises, glasses tinkling, ice crackling, and even people breathing.  But Isaac had learned control years ago.  It had been difficult, exhausting him to the point where he almost went mad from the dissonance.  But this time his focus was clearer, his intent was sharper, and it was easier for him to pick through the sounds to find what he wanted to hear.  In this case, they were the heartbeats of the people in the table. 

     As the cards were dealt, and the players peeked at their hands, their heartbeats would change whether due to excitement or disappointment.  This revelation coupled with other observations yielded tremendous information on the condition of the observed; the way they would fidget, the beading of sweat on their temples, the change in their breathing, and especially their scent.  The processing of information gained in this manner can be difficult and it takes years of training to achieve, if at all possible, especially for turned Weres.  Whereas born Weres were fortunate to develop a functional and enhanced vomeronasal organ while in utero, granting them the opportunity to acclimate to the enhanced senses since birth, turned Weres had to learn to properly use theirs, in order to utilize the organ to its full potential, almost immediately after the change.  It is a process that usually takes years of hard work and dedication on the part of the user, with exceptions of course.  Isaac had honed his for years, whereas Juun was still training hers. 

     This fact impressed Isaac seeing as it took Juun a good ten minutes before she was focused enough to acclimate to her fully enhanced senses.  Granted it only took Isaac seconds, but the fact that the young Were was able to do it at all was impressive.  Of course, Juun's control was imperfect, and her interpretation of signals were not entirely accurate.  This caused her to lose certain hands while winning others.  Isaac knew that this likely rattled Juun more than she was letting on, but he, on the other hand, was relieved.  It would have been far too suspicious if she kept on winning.  As it happens, this just caused her to look like a very talented poker player in the eyes of the people in the game.  In about an hour, most of which Isaac spent fidgeting, Juun had made five thousand dollars from her five hundred.  To say that Isaac was relieved when she finally cashed out was an understatement. 

     "Had fun?"  Isaac smirked. 

     Juun hissed in response, cuasing Isaac's smirk to grow wider.  "I sucked!  It was just too much.  It's so noisy, and this place stinks!"  She bristled.

     "Oh, stop complaining.  We're in Vegas!"  Isaac responded in his best impression of the girl, garnering him a frustrated swipe in turn.  "Seriously, what now?"

     Juun smiled at the question.  "Now, we have fun!"

     Dragging Isaac beside her, Juun dragged the two of them to Treasure Island where she books them a penthouse room, miraculously available, that came with a complimentary fully stocked limo to drive them all over the city.  Isaac didn't complain, he was thankful for the distractions and glad for the opportunity to have fun.  Juun took every opportunity to stand out of the sun roof and whoop for joy.  They did the Sky Jump at the Stratosphere, rode the roller coaster at New York New York, lounged at the pool at their hotel, played the child-friendly games at Excalibur, and watched shows all over the city.  The two of them particularly enjoyed the Thunder from Down Under.  Although aroused, Isaac's wolf bridled as it yearned for Scott.  They even put aside some of the money Juun won to buy souvenirs for the pack. 

     "You're not getting Derek that teddy wolf."  Isaac grinned while looking at the goofy looking, ridiculously fluffy, black and white wolf with 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas' stamped in a pink heart just above its butt. 

     "Why not?  It's cute."  Juun laughed.  "Besides you're already getting him that baseball, this'll be the fun one."

     After eating a delicious buffet, the two Weres found themselves back in their penthouse room, exhausted from the events of the day.  Lying head to toe on their huge bed, the TV quietly playing the Game Show Network in the background, the two wolves lay quietly on top of the soft covers, staring at the ceiling. 

     "Thanks.  I needed this."  Isaac muttered quietly. 

     "No problem."  She smiled, even if Isaac couldn't see it.  "I mean, I don't quite know what's going on, but I just thought you deserved a break."

     Isaac chuckled.  "You mean none of this was to satisfy your own sense of pleasure?"

     "Oh, it definitely did."  She nodded, agreeing, and stifling a yawn.  "But the pack knows all of the shit you and Scott are going through with that Allison girl."

     "So we're a topic of conversation then?" 

     "You are when you wear it on your sleeve.  I mean it's not like you're trying to hide it either." 

     Isaac was silent for a minute, studying the contours and colours of the patterns in the ceiling.  He stared at the dim yellow light of the bulb above them.  "What exactly are people talking about?" 

     Juun didn't even hesitate with her response.  "That you're in love with her, and maybe even with Scott, who's in love with her too.  But I don't get it.  She's a hunter Isaac.  I can't even understand how that happened."

     "She's pack Juun."  He said evenly, getting a sharp growl from the girl in return. 

     "Bullshit she's pack."

     "She is."  He just said simply.  "At least... she was.  Or, no, she still is."  He said, turning on his side, tucking his hands under his head and closing his eyes.  "For us, she always is."

     Juun lay still and quiet for a long while, not quite understanding the words that came out of his mouth.  "This is a Stile's thing, isn't it?" 

     Isaac's eyes snapped open at the name.  "What are you talking about?"

     "Well some of us have been talking.  We've heard bits and pieces about the guy.  At least as much as we got from Boyd.  I mean Derek doesn't talk about him, neither does Scott.  I asked once, but there was just a lot of growling and sadness involved.  Sometimes Lydia says something... when she can, or wants to, while Cora didn't know him very well.  The only other people who probably know something are the Argents, you, and Erica."  She said, her voice trailing off in the end after saying Erica's name.  Isaac knew why.  Talking about Erica was difficult for everyone who've met her as she is now.  After a short time Juun finally asks the question Isaac dreaded in a whisper, "What happened?"

     Isaac just stared quietly at the wall, his heart starting to beat fast at the memories that threatened to come.  He didn't want to think about Stiles after having a day that went so well.  He didn't want to think about the day when it all went to hell.  Not when things were finally better.  He believed that thinking about Stiles would only make it that much harder to keep on moving forward.  After all, Isaac had other things to worry about.  Such as the complicated relationship that existed between him, Scott, and Allison. 

     "Go to sleep Juun.  We have a long drive tomorrow."  Was all Isaac said before shutting his eyes closed. 

     Juun stared at the back of his head for a while before turning on her side to sleep to the sound of game show people cheering and clapping in the background. 

     Early the next day after a buffet breakfast, and a very brief last minute dip in the pool, the two Weres checked out.  They piled their souvenirs and gifts into the trunk of the beetle and were on the road by ten.

     "Just take the I-15 North and we should be at Salt Lake in about seven hours with stops.  We'll probably get there by evening, just in time to grab a bite to eat before heading out to our appointment."  She says, stressing the word 'appointment' with more dramatic flare than necessary. 

     "It's just to aid the Salt Lake pack with the training of their new Weres.  Nothing big.  Supposed to keep pack relations cordial." 

     "And of course Derek sends his two best and brightest."  She says brightly. 

     Isaac smirked.  "Actually, he sends one of his best and a teaching tool." 

     Juun took a swipe at Isaac who dodged causing them to almost drive off the road. 

     "Jeez, easy!  I'm driving here!"  He laughed.      

     The drive was fairly long and boring, the landscape not shifting much from the dull ochre with bits of green and grey.  The sun was harsh and shining brightly, beating hard on the pavement below.  Isaac could see the heat lines that hovered just above the road and was thankful for the air-conditioned car.  After a pit stop at St. George for a bathroom break and a bite to eat, the two Weres continued their travel north and by the time they reached Cedar City Isaac asked Juun if she needed another one.  She just brushed him off with a wave and went back to bobbing her head to a song playing on the radio.  But shortly after they left the city limits, she turned to him with a self conscious smile. 

     "Um, yeah... I need to pee." 

     "I asked you that five minutes ago."  He said frustrated. 

     "I didn't need to pee then!"  She snapped. 

     "Fine.  Fine!"  He said through gritted teeth.  "I'm not heading back, but look, there's a bathroom ten miles from here.  Can you hold it for like fifteen minutes, or do you just want me to pull over so you can piss at the side of the road?"

     Juun looked scandalized.  "You can't be serious.  I'm not pissing at the side of the road!"

     "There's hardly anybody here!  Besides, if you have to go, you have to go."

     "I don't have toilet paper."

     "Use one of the souvenir shirts you bought."

     "I'm not using a t-shirt to wipe myself down."  She said roughly, then hesitated.  "Besides, I kinda... need... to go number two as well... or something."      

      Isaac didn't say anything and just accelerated.  At the speed Isaac drove, it took them just ten minutes to get to a small town called Summit.  Isaac pulled into a rather shady looking diner called Olly's, the parking lot filled only by several trucks.  The diner's sign was worn down, the paint was peeling, the colours were dull, and the parking lot was full of pot holes.  Isaac would never have guessed that the diner was still open if it weren't for the trucks in the lot and the sickly green flashing 'open' neon sign at the front window.  Juun ran straight inside to use the bathroom.  But the moment Isaac set foot into the diner, he was greeted by a frustrated looking Juun marching back towards him. 

     "Yeah, I'm not using that."  She said.

     Isaac sighed.  "I thought you needed to go."

     "Okay, one there's no toilet paper."  She responded, starting to skip where she stood.  "And two, there's vomit and piss on the floor.  It's gross!  I'm pretty sure they didn't come from human beings either."

     "Well what do you want to do?"  He asked, his frustration bubbling to the surface, getting ready to snap.

     Thankfully a man eating nearby interrupted them.  "Yeah, this place is a bit of a dive."  The man said, glancing at a balding hairy man behind the counter reading a newspaper and wearing a stained wife beater.  The balding man must have heard, but it seems he didn't really give a damn.  "So you might wanna try the other diner if the lady's gotta do her business.  Their bathrooms are better for her sensibilities."

     "And where's that?"  Isaac asked.

     The man turned to point out of the window and gesture with his hands.  "Just go down this street here, thataway, and turn left at Centre street.  Then just go all the way to the end till you hit Dave's.  You won't miss it, it'll be on your right."

     "Oh my God, thank you!"  Juun yelled-jumped as she pulled Isaac out of the door in a hurry.  They barely heared the man's amused 'your welcome' as she raced towards the car.    

     Juun was positively vibrating in her seat, but not like as she was in Vegas.  She kept on making desperate humming sounds that Isaac found amusing. 

     "Oh, I'm so happy you find this funny."

     He chuckled.  "Well it's either that or find it irritating.  And what can I say?  I'm a cheerful guy." 

     She snarled.  "Just drive, or this car's going to turn into a toilet in about five minutes." 

     Juun smirks at the way the car accelerates. 

     Thankful that the man's directions were correct, Isaac pulled into another parking lot.  This time the building was clearly better maintained than Olly's.  Dave's diner was painted white and red, and the sign utilized a charmingly cookie script.  There were a lot more cars and trucks in the parking lot, which was maintained better than Olly's ever was.  The moment Isaac turned off the engine, Juun burst out of the car and sprinted towards the diner.  Figuring he needed to use the bathroom himself, he stepped out of the car.  As he stepped out onto the hot pavement, a warm breeze blew across the lot. 

     That was the moment the scent hit him. 

     A scent that sent his wolf into an absolute frenzy. 

     Isaac's nostrils flared, his mouth agape, his eyes wide and alert.  His head whipped towards the smell and what he found shook him to his core.  Across the lot where a lone van was parked, a man so familiar to him was walking towards it. 

     His body shook, his whole being shocked.  The impossibility of it blaring in his mind, but his senses contradicting every thought that crossed his head. 

      _DEADDEADEADEADEAD_

     The refusals rang in his thoughts.  But across the lot, walking calmly, was Stiles.  His hair was darker, a dull black, and his body was a bit wider, but still firm, as if it were covered with more muscle than the boy in Isaac's memories. 

     **DEADEADEADEADEAD**

     The thoughts continued to ring in his head, his wolf warring with the human mind.  It's impossible!-improbable!; his mind screams.  It's Stiles!-It's family!; his wolf cries.  It was his scent.  It wasn't a dead man's scent.  For Isaac Lahey and his wolf, these things were real and they were there, in that diner, in the middle of nowhere.  Without meaning to, without a thought, Isaac took a step forward.  Then another.  It was an unconscious action that he was running, the wolf in him taking over, body shaking with a mixture of emotions too many and complex to understand beyond the manner in which they overwhelmed his being. 

     He tackled the man into the ground, burying his face in the man's neck and breathing in his scent.  It was Stiles' scent.  It was warm, it was living, and it was real.  Isaac's chest shook, his arms tightened around the man, and little did he know that he was sobbing hard, tears streaming down his face.  He didn't even know that they were on the ground, nor that the man underneath him was struggling.  He felt the punches, the hard hits, the sharp blows, but they were nothing compared to everything else - to the joy, the grief, the shock, and a host of other emotions that wracked Isaac's soul.  The hits were nothing.  The man in his arms was something. 

     Tearing himself away from the crook of Stiles' neck, Isaac looked up, not knowing that he had been muttering the man's name or that the punching had stopped.  He was greeted by shocked brown eyes. 

     "Stiles... you're alive!"  He chocked, desperate for the words to be true.  They had to be for he was clutching the proof of them in his hands.

     Isaac's senses were in overdrive.  His tears were obstructing the sharp light piercing his eyes, his ears muffling the dissonant sounds that bombarded his ears, his body flush with the heat of excitement and desperation.  The world was full and it was amplified, so much so that Isaac almost missed the words that came out of Stiles' mouth. 

     It was surprised.  It was faint in his ears, but it was real.  Most of all, it was for him. 

     "What... the hell?"

     Isaac's wolf howled.        


	3. The Urge to Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juun overreacts at Isaac's distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I haven't edited this chapter, will do it when I get back (I have to head out in a few...)
> 
> Also, I know that this chapter might get confusing, but next chapter (in a few days) will be Stiles' POV and will explain more. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Music in ear - Alt-J's "Breezeblocks"

     Juun has been a part of the Beacon Hills Hale pack for two years, six months, three weeks, and four days.  And for every one of those days Juun feared she would only be waking up from a dream.  Although imperfect in many respects, Derek's pack was a far better alternative to the one she found herself in when she was turned at a painfully young age.  She found comfort in the honest familiarity the pack shared, the way in which they revelled in their humanity as opposed to despising it.  She took to the Beacon Hill's pack very quickly, eager to forge bonds of a true family so lacking from her previous pack that relished in the acquisition of power and the subversion of one's humanity.  In Juun's old pack, surrendering to the animalistic instincts of the wolf within was seen as paramount in creating a stronger Were.  Although true when in the form of the wolf, this in turn made it all the more difficult to control the same abilities when used with intent as a human. 

     Juun found this aspect of control difficult.  More so that she struggles to resist the temptation to defer to the wolf's nature when expanding and experiencing her heightened senses.  Surrendering to the wolf's nature meant spending little time thinking things through just as a human would, and instead becoming a creature of instinct rooted in pack culture.  Juun is more than familiar with the consequences of giving over such control.  But after years of control, the wolf within Juun was reluctant to completely defer to Juun's human ways. 

     When Derek took her into his pack he introduced a whole new way of living that was entirely foreign to the girl.  She found this new way of life liberating.  She was eager for the knowledge her new pack offered, worked to meet the balance between human and wolf, to control the abilities of the wolf as a human and less as the creature. 

     But old prejudices that had been instilled in her for most of her Were life were hard to be rid off.  She found it difficult to interact with humans, let alone consider the humans who were loyal to Derek as part of the pack.  For Juun, the amount of attention and loyalty her pack showed to humans was perplexing.  She found it odd how much love and loyalty Scott and Isaac seem to shower the Argent girl despite her being a hunter who's allegiance was questionable.  Then there was Lydia, a strong willed girl who refused to defer to anyone's standing in the pack, treating the Alpha as if they were equals.  But most of all, Juun was perplexed by the collective reverence many of the pack members treated the boy known to her as Stiles.  Or had treated.  From what little information she gained of the boy, he had grown exceptionally close to the pack, particularly to Derek, in a short amount of time.  All of the information she gathered implied that the boy may have bedded the Alpha.  The possibility of such was astonishing for Juun, if not just a little bit distasteful.  She found such loyalties given to a human by Weres difficult to comprehend. 

     Regardless of all the struggles the Were encountered in Derek's pack, she cared for them all deeply.  The feelings she had for them went beyond the instinctual desire of her wolf to care for the pack, and had developed into an aching desire to remain and protect those she now considered family.  So when the wind blew across Juun Yuna's face as she walked out of the door of Dave's diner and towards the parking lot, the pungent distress she scented coming off of her pack mate crashed into her in waves.  The sheer surprise of it caused the tenuous control she had over her wolf to slip, causing her to shift. 

     For Juun's wolf, Isaac was in distress, even if it didn't know why, and needed help.  The overwhelming urge to protect her pack subverted any human thought and she lost herself, even if she was unable to distinguish on the type of distress that Isaac felt.  She shifted, her nails grew long and sharp, her skin hardened, her eyes glowed, and her fangs grew.  Crouching down, she darted towards Isaac's scent, although the air was permeated with so many scents from such an odd mixture of emotions that Juun could barely distinguish one emotion from another.  But she could hear Isaac's accelerated heartbeat and the sobs that left his lips.  Juun launched herself at the closest living thing, the foreign thing, the thing that stood in front of Isaac, that her wolf blames for its pack mate's distress.  Claws out, rearing back, she leaps at Stiles while aiming for his neck. 

     She heard the desperate cry of Isaac calling her name, of the man turning at the call who, with a tremendous amount of luck, leaped aside just out of her reach.  Her claws barely slashed at the edges of his shirt.  As soon as she landed, she twisted back crouching for another leap at the man.  As she launched forward with another roar, a strong hand pulled her back by her clothes, took hold of an elbow and threw her away from her prey.  She felt the burst of pain as she crashed into something hard and heavy, the ache of it vibrating down to her bones.  She heard the quick, sharp, groaning of steel being bent.  She could feel torn muscles and skin already knitting itself as she struggled back up, this time launching herself towards the new danger, at the one that had grabbed her.  But its scent was familiar, and the scents it emitted were confusing, and the roar she heard was recognizable and terrifying, jarring the wolf momentarily, allowing the human aspect inside of Juun an anchor to clutch on to for a form of control. 

     Juun recognized it then, the human within seeing out of her wolf's eyes.  Isaac crouched down not far before her, eyes glowing, with a so astonishingly face warped in anger that he was almost unrecognizable, and it aimed entirely at her.  She had never seen such an expression from such a gentle face, and it made her hesitate.  Her wolf drew back, confused, and Juun crouched down cautiously in front of Issac.

      "Juun, what are you doing?"  Isaac growled. 

     Juun didn't know what to say, how to act.  The whole situation was confusing her.  She remembered the smell of distress that carried Isaac's scent, remembered his wracking sobs, all aimed at the man who stood in front of him.  A man who, Juun noticed, lay not far behind Isaac, ass down on the ground, face filled with panic. 

     "I... I..." She began, still not knowing what to say, the wolf within her whining in confusion.

     "You do not hurt him."  Every word that left Isaac's mouth seethed with rage.  And with the weight of them, Juun was cowed, turning back completely into her human form. 

     "I'm sorry, it's just... he was hurting you!"  She pressed, tears now starting to fall down her cheeks. 

     Juun panicked at the thought of insulting her pack member, a beta that was far above her.  She panicked at the thought that she may have done something to receive Isaac's ire, jeopardizing her place in the pack.  She could feel the panic rising out of her chest, her heart feeling with dread.  Juun didn't want to displease Isaac.  Juun didn't want to leave this pack.

     "I'm... I'm sorry.  I'm confused.  I'm sorry."  She pleaded and quickly bares her neck to Isaac as a show of submission.

     Isaac's face quickly shifted from the anger so apparent before to a look of resignation.  His eyes changed back to their kind light blue, and his nails receded back to their normal length.  He stood slowly, approaching Juun with care.  "It's alright.  I'm alright.  I know you're confused.  I was just, overwhelmed.  I can imagine what you must have scented.  I... I just lost control.  I'm sorry too.  I'm alright.  It's okay." 

     "You were in danger."  She said, hesitating. 

     "No.  No, I wasn't.  I lost control of my wolf for a moment.  I wasn't in danger.  I was just really, really happy."  He said the last word with a growing smile.  "It's all good Juun.  Nothing bad here.  Are you okay now, are you in control?"

     "Happy?"  The word was odd in contrast to the situation Juun found herself in.  She looked at Isaac's face then, studying it, trying to fit the words that came out of his mouth with what he meant.  His heart was steady, his eyes were calm, and his words were the truth.  "But why were you..."  Her voice trailed off, still unsure of what had happened.    

     For a beat or two there was only silence, Isaac now holding Juun's hand in one of his own, but an engine rumbling pulled the two Weres out of their reverie.  Isaac turned at the sound and Juun could hear the increasingly rapid beating of his heart like thunder in her ears. 

     "Stiles!"  he called, voice desperate and pained, quickly standing up to chase after the man, but Juun held on to his hand with as much force as she could.

     She was going to ignore the name he had called out for the moment.  Juun could feel Isaac's desperation.  That had to be what it was.  Supposing that man was indeed Stiles, something Juun doubted, she could well understand Isaac's agitation. 

     "We have a car Isaac."  Juun simply stated, standing up, pulling Isaac quickly towards their car.  In the distance they saw Stile's car stop at the intersection, signalling, and then turn left.  Juun found that a very odd thing to do by someone who was trying to get away.  Juun quickly moved into the driver's seat and drove out of the parking lot to follow Stiles' van.  Isaac in the meantime was a huge knot of tension in the passenger seat.

     "Can't you drive any faster?  You'll loose him."  He said with a scowl.

     Juun frowned.  "I don't think that's possible.  I mean there's hardly any other cars on the road, and his kiddy-diddling van kinda stands out.  Not to mention he's not driving like he's trying to get away.  I mean he's driving the speed limit, for crying out loud."

     It had only taken a few seconds after pulling out of Dave's parking lot before they had Stiles' car in sight, and a few seconds after that to start following him from a short distance.  The car didn't seem to be in much of a rush, keeping to the speed limit, and at one point even yielding to a pair of pedestrians who wanted to cross the street. 

     "Okay, now I'm really confused."  She says as they stop behind the van while two old ladies slowly crossed the road.  "Are we in some sort of really awkward and really odd, slow speed, car chase?" 

     Odder still when during a stop at one intersection Stiles turned left, after breaking for no apparent reason, and then turned another left after driving another block.  Juun was now even more confused.

     "Is he driving in circles?"  Juun turned to Isaac to ask, finding that he was wearing a bemused expression on his face. 

     "Looks like it." 

     The two cars drove on, while keeping painfully close to the speed limit, and took the exit out of the highway before Stiles signalled off the road after a couple of miles.  Juun followed, parking a good a hundred metres behind Stiles' car.  The van turned its emergency lights on and, after three seconds, Stiles stepped out of the car.  He seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, looking at his feet with a look of deep consternation on his face before turning to where Juun and Isaac were parked.  He raised his hand and motioned for the two Weres to come out.  Juun heard Isaac's breath hitch before he scrambled out of the car, walking towards Stiles in a frantic space.  Juun on the other hand took her time getting out of the car. 

     The wolf within her was starting to get agitated again, not wanting Isaac to relapse into the state of distress she scented earlier.  Now having the opportunity to study the boy Isaac called 'Stiles', she found that he did indeed bear a striking resemblance to the one he'd seen in pictures back at Derek's house, but with darker and longer hair and a slightly wider body.  The resemblance was there, Juun admitted.

     "Isaac."  Juun called, the warning clear in her voice.  With what little she knew of Stiles, she still knew that the kid in the pictures he saw was supposed to be dead.  At one point Isaac had even taken her to his grave.  At the sound of her voice Isaac stopped about fifty metres from where Stiles' stood.  After hesitating for a moment Juun walked to stand next to her pack mate. 

     There was only silence for a long stretch of time, the two parties just looking at each other, filled only by the dull and fast beating of a human heart.  Stiles looked calm on the outside, but even Juun could see the tension that oozed out of his body.  She saw that his stance was defensive, as if he were wound to flee or fight at any time. 

     "I'm sorry if I scared you."  Isaac said in a calm voice, the smile wide and clear in his face. 

     Stiles didn't respond for a long minute, just looking back and forth between Isaac and herself before asking, "who are you?"

     The question was like a slap to Isaac's face, his grin snapping into a tight lipped shock.  Even Juun heard Isaac's heart skip at the question. 

     "Wha... what?" 

     "Why are you following me?  And what the hell was that in the parking lot?"  His voice rose with the tension of his questions.  "What do you want from me?"

     Isaac, so speechless at the question, just stood mute and staring at Stiles.  It was Juun who broke the silence that followed shortly after and stepped forward slowly, her hands up in a placating way.  She stopped walking when Stiles took a step back, his fisted hands twitching.  He looked calm, but the rapid beating of his heart was deafening in Juun's ears. 

     "I'm Juun.  This is Isaac."  She studied his face as she spoke, trying to understand what was happening beneath his stoic face.  "And we think," _or rather just Isaac_ , Juun said to herself, "that your name is Stiles.  Is it?"

     "People call me Robert Bates."  He said, and Juun could not distinguish that from a lie.  His heart was beating far too fast to distinguish the lies from the truth.  "I was just getting off work when that guy," he said, nodding towards Isaac, "pounced on me and cried into my neck.  Next thing I know he's screaming at something behind me and I turned to see you jumping towards me.  And you weren't right.  You had claws, and fangs, and your eyes weren't human."

     The words that poured out of his mouth confused Juun even more, the whole situation baffled her.  "So you did see that.  But... you're not running away.  You weren't driving like you were trying to get away.  If you were, it was a really inept way to try and lose someone tailing you.  Not to mention, how you've pulled over the side of a mostly empty highway to talk to the very people who pounced on you fifteen minutes ago, one of which you noticed had abnormal claws, fangs, and eyes.  I'm sorry, I'm just really confused too.  Why didn't you try harder to run away?"

     The two just stood there staring at each other; Isaac still a ball of surprise and tension beside Juun and Stiles' heartbeat still pounded as if it were trying to beat out of his chest. 

     "Right."  He nodded, as if having decided something to himself.  "Okay.  We gotta talk.  But not here.  Just... just follow me."  He said simply before quickly getting back into his car and driving away, not even bothering to look back behind him.

     Juun quickly turned around and pushed Isaac back towards their car.  "Come on.  We'll get some answers."  She promised him as she cupped his surprised face.  "We'll get answers." 

     Isaac nodded as they settled into his seat and Juun started the car, trailing after the lone van in the road.    

          

                                 


	4. They'll Be Laying Flowers on my Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles thinks about what to do and about what happened that drove him to his decision to leave Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update. It's inexcusable. To make amends, here's a really, REALLY, long chapter. I mean long. 12,000 words long. That's more than the first three chapters combined. Anyway... 
> 
> I work with the assumption that Beacon Hills can be found in Contra Costa County region of California, and therefore about an hour or so away from UC Berkeley. As reasoned here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beacon_Hills
> 
> Also if any of you begin to wonder about certain things that I've written down that seem odd or unusual or "doesn't make sense" within the context of the story and its characters. All I've got to say about that is this: Chekhov's gun. 
> 
> Or at least a noble attempt at one. ;D
> 
> More notes at the end. (Also, this is unbeta'd. I tried my best at editing it though - I tried to make it as coherent as I could.)
> 
> Music: Jem - 24
> 
> WARNING!: There might be a number of triggers here. I'm not quite sure how to classify them. Sexual assault? Kinda? But not really? A bit creepy-pervy-monstery thing? There's violence though. Also it's a big chapter, but I tried to break it down just in case you guys wanted to remember your spot if you can't finish it in one sitting with asterisks. Useless, I know. Sorry. ^_^"

     To say the whole thing was a shock is an understatement.  There he was, driving through the street of the town at excruciatingly low speeds, trying to decide how to handle the situation.  His mind was half paying attention to the road, resulting in said excruciatingly low driving speed, and half contemplating all of his options. 

     Stiles believed without a doubt that there was no possible way for him to brush off his encounter with Isaac.  He couldn't ignore it.  It was clear that he had not only seen Stiles, but he had recognized and identified him as well.  What would pretending to be someone else entirely do?  Stiles still had the same scent, relatively still had the same look, the same voice.  It would definitely be some sort of far reaching coincidence if he pretended to be someone else entirely. 

     Or would it? 

     It would be very difficult to lie to a Were, but not impossible.  His heart would give out the lie.  Despite all the opportunities over the years to learn how to, Stiles never was able to accomplish the feat of purposely controlling the beating of his heart into a gentle calm.  The fact of the matter was that he would be even more terrible at lying now than he ever was as a teenager.  Back then he at least had his ADHD to count on to for a consistently rapid heart beat and erratic behaviour, not to mention the gallons of coffee he consumed.  Now he was no longer suffering from the former, and unfortunately the latter wasn't within reach.  Although he could go back to the diner and chug a cup if he chose to converse with the two Weres.  But that would bring about other complications.  This town wasn't big and most, if not all, of its residents knew about Stiles' kids.  That was definitely something that Stiles couldn't risk Isaac knowing. 

     So how would he manage to lie?  He needed a way to maintain a consistent heart rate that would mask any change in the beats if he did choose to lie.  But lying itself would be a dangerous road to go down.  There would be stories to make up and keep up on, and the constant pressure of keeping the facade up would be mentally draining over time, and Stiles couldn't risk an accidental reveal of his kids. 

     The solution was clearly simple, at least that's what Stiles believed.  In ignorance he would find his bliss.  He couldn't lie so he wouldn't share the truth instead.  At least, the truth that they would likely want to hear.  For the past six years Stiles' truth had changed several times.  Right now, the truth of the matter was that the people of this town knew he was Robert Bates.  Of course Stiles was not Robert Bates, that was the lie.  But he had presented himself as Robert Bates to this town and its people, and it would not be a lie if he shared this piece of information to Isaac.  That was how Stiles was qualifying the whole thing, and he was fine with it.

     He knew direct questions would be dangerous, and he would have to rely on an enormous amount of luck on the Weres asking the wrong questions.  Or at least asking questions that Stiles could give a roundabout answer to. 

     The last time Stiles had seen Isaac the Were was still struggling against his other nature and had trouble utilizing his extra abilities at their optimum capacity.  Now, however, Stiles knew that he couldn't count on relying on that knowledge.  It would be foolish to expect Isaac to be subject to the same ineptitude he suffered six years ago when Stiles himself had changed so much.  Stiles didn't know the woman at all.  She was young, beautiful, and very aggressive.  He knew that much going by what he saw when she lunged for his neck.  His side still throbbed at landing on his side incorrectly.  But he supposed that it could have been worse and was glad that his reflexes were sharp enough to have dodged the leap when he did. 

     Then a thought occurred to Stiles. 

     The girl.  He didn't know the girl.  She was the perfect way for Stiles to be able to direct the conversation away from his true identity.  At least for now.  She couldn't be the sole instrument, of course, but she could be used as a tool nonetheless to help present the fabric of reality he had made as Robert Bates.  Stiles knew that he wouldn't be able to deny his relationship and history to Isaac, especially if the questions were raised when he was calm and they would be able to qualify his answer through the even, steady, beating of his heart beat from the frantic, panicked skipping that would result from a lie.  Perhaps utilizing his ignorance of who she was would work towards his advantage. 

     All this thinking was quite distracting.  Stiles thought that he may have almost just run over two old biddies at a stop sign.  But he wasn't quite sure.  But it definitely occurred to him that he was making a terrible mistake.  Having been so partially lost in thought that he didn't realize that he was driving home.  Driving home where he and his children live.  A cabin saturated with their scent even if they hadn't been there for the past few weeks.  He stepped on the brakes reflexively and mentally cursed at himself.  Taking a few moments to gather himself, he reflexively looked at the rear view mirror and saw that the two Weres were following him in a blue turtle (actually a blue Volkswagen Beetle, but his kids preferred to call them turtles because of the shape).  Stiles didn't even realize that they were following him so closely.  It took him half a second to let a moan escape his lips as he realized that he had been driving the very, very, slow speed limit of the town.  It wasn't so much a daring, high speed escape of great car chase cinema as much as the hobbling waddle of Captain Hook away from the hungry crocodile.  Stiles swore he heard a ticking clock just now. 

     As soon as he gathered his wits about himself, he took the first two lefts away from his house and towards the highway. 

     The whole situation was starting to give him a panic attack.  He could feel his heart beating frantically against his chest.

     Then it occurred to him that that was actually a good thing.  A persistently fast beating heart would be difficult to read.  No resulting skipping or erratic beats to differentiate from the truths and the half truths or, if need be but not if he could help it, the lies. 

     Finding himself on the highway he sighed to himself and pulled over at the side of the road.  He still didn't really know what he wanted, or what he hoped to accomplish.  Frankly, he didn't quite know what to do in the big scheme of things.  He would have been fairly content, for the most part, living apart from that life he once had in Beacon Hills.  He had other priorities and other loves close by.  He was once very intent on separating his life, of starting over and not only giving his children everything he never had, but making sure that they would never have to be sucked in to the crazy, dangerous, and dark recesses of Were life. 

     He felt justified in his decision.  At least he was back then.  But over the years as the children grew, he began to consider what he had taken away from them as well as what they would need beyond what he could give.  Although his decision to leave Beacon Hills was truly justified, he believed, at the time, it became harder every year to justify keeping his children away from a life and a father they never even knew they had.  But what could he do to fix things?  What could he say that would explain things?  The night he left Beacon Hills had been one of those most difficult nights of his life.  But the night that drove him to that decision was even worse.  Stiles couldn't help but shudder at the memories of that fateful evening.

***

     There were three important events that lead to Stiles' decision to leave Beacon Hills six years ago.  The first was an impossible occurrence.  The second broke his heart, while the third ripped it out of his chest.  Worst of all, it all happened within a span of twenty four hours. 

     The first was a product of the nurturing of a tentative alliance that began when he and Scott decided to look for a dead body in the woods.  The moment Derek Hale walked into his life was an experience filled with a healthy dose of fear and panic coupled by a splash of regret.  But over the years, and through mountains of time and experience, the two nurtured the tentative alliance into a deep friendship.  In time, after seemingly countless life threatening experiences that pushed the two together, the friendship blossomed into something more.  The result of their new, budding relationship came about four weeks after spending their first night in bed together. 

     Stiles had been riding the high for that entire month after losing his virginity to Derek.  As far as he was concerned the whole thing had been a long time coming.  He was eighteen, high school would soon be over and he had spent his first time with someone he had significant feelings for.  It had exceeded his juvenile expectations.  Mind you, it didn't come close to the fantasies that he had spent countless hours touching himself at night, but it was better than the realistic first times he had heard about from other people.  His first time with Derek wasn't awkward, it wasn't done in the dark, and there was no fumbling and awkward, empty moments involved.  More than once Stiles was afraid that he was going to implode from the excitement of Derek's touch, gentle caresses, and lingering kisses on his skin.  But Derek had lead the way to a memorable evening, never pushing past the limits that Stiles could take for his first time even if Stiles was more than willing to throw those limits out of the window altogether.  But Stiles was glad at how it all went about and at the sensations they had shared as well as the time afterwards that they spent resting in each other's arms. 

     Ever since that first night, he had spent every opportunity to spend time alone with the Were.  Dragging him into empty hallways for deep kisses, dragging him into his bedroom window at night and on his bed to rut each other into oblivion, and several times violating the innocence of his jeep by seemingly christening every reachable space in it with some sort of body fluid. 

     Stiles' relationship with his father suffered as a result.  Months before his graduation, the Sheriff had clearly began to panic about the impending change in their lives.  Stiles was registered to start classes in the fall at UC Berkeley along with Lydia, Allison, and even, through a prodigious amount of work and luck, Scott.  Considering that the campus was only about an hour away from Beacon Hills, the arrangement worked out fairly well in terms of keeping close to the pack and their families.  But it would still be a big change for the two of them.  The Sheriff and Stiles have never been apart for long periods of time.  Especially after Stiles' mother passed away. 

     Stiles took the time to comfort his father, taking him out for extended fishing trips as much as he could during the time leading up to graduation.  Spending as much time as he could with his father in as wide a variety of male bonding activities he could find ('male bonding' applied loosely as Stiles even booked them several hours at a spa being pampered like Goddesses.  It. Was. Fantastic.).  But about a week after Derek and Stiles first spent the night together, cause that's how Stiles would count the days now, the Sheriff had become even more withdrawn.  He was quieter and more distant.  Certainly a lot less affectionate.  Stiles brushed it off as his father's attempt to try and soften the blow when Stiles finally left for college.  Every time he tried to engage his father in some form of discussion and failed, opting to just stare at Stiles blankly before moving away, Stiles merely sighed heavily and let the man walk away to stew in his man pain. 

     Besides, Stiles became quite busy himself with other things.  Specifically things that he did with Derek.  The first few times had been gentle enough, and Derek had taken great care to take every precaution for his lover; using immense amount of lube, rimming Stiles until the boy was an incomprehensible puddle of goo, spending an excruciating amount of time spreading him with his fingers, and even utilizing a very, very diverse selection of condoms.  But more than once, in their excitement, and when Stiles became more experienced, the intensity of their fucking ended with the two throwing caution to the wind.  Especially after several instances when Derek's condom broke, either through the sheer force of the pounding he was giving to Stiles, or the fact that it just couldn't hold Derek's girth and Stiles' heat.  Stiles didn't complain.  He was far too happy to complain.  Not to mention he believed that he had nothing to fear considering Weres, it seems, were immune to human sexually transmitted diseases due to their nature.  And every concern he had during the sporadic times of lucidity quickly flew out of the window the moment he found himself in Derek's arms with the guy's tongue making it's way down his neck.  Not to mention he didn't mind at all that Derek filled him up so completely and obscenely.  Way better than being in a spa.

     So the first few symptoms were ignored, such as the random bouts of dizziness and changes in appetite.  The intermittent appearances of aches and pains that seem to reverberate from his bones.  After the beatings he's had over the years these weren't unusual things for Stiles, and random over the counter drugs were nothing compared to the scheduled medication he had had to take for his ADHD.  But when the vertigo and relentless vomiting occurred one evening he found himself booking an appointment with a doctor.  All the woman did was prescribe more medication to help alleviate the symptoms while recommending plenty of bed rest and fluids, advising Stiles to come back if the symptoms persisted after some time. 

     But it wasn't the excruciating, and paralyzing, abdominal pain that warned Stiles that something unnatural was amiss.  Or that his chest began to hurt like a mother fucker.  It was the fact that his nipples began to randomly leak a clear, white fluid.  Coupled with the intense nausea and vomiting that preceded it something in Stiles mind finally clicked.  After defrosting from his rather lengthy state of shock brought on by an impossible thought, Stiles found himself going to Deaton for help. 

     At the one month stage of his new relationship with Derek, not that he counted or thought of it as an anniversary (a lie of course - he even bought Derek flavoured 'underwear' as a gift, stored in his freezer at home, which he was planning on giving him, and using, the next day), Stiles found himself driving to Deaton's office later that evening after sneaking out of his house and lying down, half-naked, on one of his exam tables, and a very cold and clear gel being spread along his stomach. 

     Stiles tried to reassure himself that his fear was just the product of his own paranoia.  A product of the panic induced by WebMD and his internet searches of the symptoms.  But when the vet had opened the door for Stiles, the very first thing that came out of his mouth was a strangled, "I'm lactating!"

     His fear was what drove him to lie on his back on a cold slab of steel, trying not to fidget as a probe glided on his stomach. 

     "Why do you even have an ultrasound machine?  Do animals use ultrasound machines?  Oh my god, am I pregnant with puppies?"  He babbled, his body starting to vibrate with restlessness. 

     Deaton just sighed, "Calm down Stiles.  The answer is no, you're not pregnant with puppies.  But yes, you are indeed pregnant.  Congratulations." 

     His heart caught in his throat and Stiles made a strangled sound as his whole body stilled in shock.  Deaton just cleaned his stomach and calmly put the machine away, letting Stiles have his panicked moment in peace.  After several minutes, seemingly hours to Stiles, a long, drawn out groan escaped Stiles' lips.  "Oh my god.  Oh my god.  Oh my god." 

     Deaton just stood next to him, calmly looking down at him with patient eyes. 

     "How is this even possible?  Oh my god.  Was I secretly a hermaphrodite?  Am I a girl and my dad just raised me as a boy?"  Stiles asked, panic again settling in.  "Is this my very own Boys Don't Cry?  'Cause I'm gonna." 

     "No, no."  Deaton reassured him.  "You are indeed a boy.  But I gather from your ramblings, and my suspected cause of the pregnancy, that the father is a Werewolf?  Can I assume we're specifically talking about a rather obstinate Were with tremendous personal issues and a penchant for glowering at anything and everything?"

     "Oh my fucking god, don't tell me this is some sort of magical Werewolf pregnancy.  Because I don't for the life of me know how Derek Hale magically gave me a uterus."  Stiles said, sitting up and grabbing his Battlestar Galactica toaster shirt to pull on.            

     "Magical, no," Deaton began, "it's more of a biological imperative than anything else.  Something that only born Weres and specifically Alphas are capable of." 

     "So it _is_ Derek's fault.  I knew it was his fault.  Why didn't he tell me any of this?  You'd think the topic of his mutant sperm having the capability of knocking me up would have come up."  He sighed, burying his face in his hands.  "Still doesn't explain how this is possible.  What with the lack of uterus and all of that.  Of fuck, is it coming out of my rectum?  Am I going to grow a vagina?"  He screeched and then whined.  "I really don't want to have to wax down there."

     Deaton just gave him a gentle and patient smile.  "Derek might not have known.  Considering the size of the Were population, and the even smaller population of same sex, Were-Human relationships, this type of situation is rare enough that Derek might never have needed to know.  Not to mention that there has to be a degree of compatibility involved for the change to take place.  Due to their need for secrecy, most Were knowledge are disseminated through oral traditions.  But even then, the topic has to come up for the story to be told.  As you know, Derek has extenuating circumstances when it comes to his family." 

     Deaton paused for a second, studying Stiles before pulling a stool to sit in front of Stiles and look at him evenly in the eyes. 

     "You see, it's a lot like the mechanics involved in changing a human into a Were through a bite.  There has to be a degree of compatibility involved between the two parties and their biology.  Did you know that a Were cannot infect every animal with the Were genetic code?  Humans are one of the few that are compatible.  An alpha can infect a human with the change through the bite.  The bite transmits a sort of... virus.  Comparably it's like a viral disease that's zoonotic in nature.  The capacity for change is contingent upon how receptive the infected is to the virus.  It can either change the infected, do nothing, which itself carries other complicated implications on the bitten party, or it can kill them.  You've been witness to this change yourself Stiles.  When Scott was infected he became far faster and stronger than he ever was as a human.  He no longer had asthma, his senses were heightened, and even his social imperative changed.  The human body is not capable of the things that you've seen your friend do, not to mention he's probably acted in ways he never did as a human.  You've seen that."

     "Yeah, all the fangs, claws, random hair growth, and the whole forehead thing coupled with the change in temper and priorities?"  Stiles nodded.

     "The most drastic changes goes beyond what you can see of course.  For example, Scott now has a very advanced Vomeronasal organ.  It not only gives him enhanced olfactory senses, but allows him to process what he smells into something understandable to humans.  You could say, he has a super nose that is far more advanced than a human being's.  Not to mention his other senses have been heightened or changed as a Were.  His sense of taste and hearing have been heightened, and little does he know that he even has a different concept of time now compared to a regular human being."

     "So you're saying, what, that screwing Derek infected me with something that changed my body?" 

     "A specific type of change yes."  Deaton nodded.  "In this case, Derek's 'virus', as we've come to call it, triggered a change in you.  Considering the method of transmission, this change carried a reproductive imperative." 

     Then Stiles' eyes grew wide with shock at something that just occurred to him.  "Wait, you said that the virus can either change, do nothing, or kill the infected?  Are you saying that sleeping with him could have killed me?"    

     "Yes, and no.  Like most sexually transmitted... 'viruses'" He said the word with distaste.  "I do wish there was some other word we could use, but I suppose it's appropriate enough for our discussion.  But I digress.  Like many sexually transmitted viruses, it is preventable with the use of some sort of prophylactic.  But death will not occur in a failed coupling.  But it can occur in a successful one, just as in common pregnancies, complications can arise.  In the case of Were-induced pregnancies, there are other unique complications to consider."

     Stiles groaned.  "So now, I'm what, a girl and pregnant?" 

     Deaton shook his head.  "Pregnant yes, a girl, as I had said before, I'm afraid not.  Considering the seemingly good health of the fetus, it is safe to assume that you've grown the equivalent of a uterus inside of your body.  Another thing to consider is the fact that we were able to detect the fetus as such an early stage in your pregnancy.  The development of the fetus is unusual in comparison to a human's at this point in time.  It is safe to assume that this is a Were pregnancy.  But alas Mr. Stilinski, you likely will not grow a vagina."

     "Likely?"  Stiles squeaked, his heart starting to beat out of his chest.  "Wait... so how does... how will it come out?" 

     "It will have to be by Caesarean section.  That is, if you choose to follow through with the pregnancy."  He responds, looking at Stiles with critical eyes.  "Such a procedure comes with the same risks as those done on other humans.  But fortunately you have other benefits at your disposal." 

     Stiles takes a half a minute to compose himself, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down.  Regardless, his knees seem to refuse any attempts at stilling them.  "So let me get this straight, magical sperm got me magically pregnant..."

     "Biological imperative,  Were infection..." Deaton interrupts.

      "Giving me a magical uterus," Stiles soldiers on, ignoring Deaton, "to be pregnant with Were babies who are seemingly developing faster than normal?  And the only way to get them out at full term is by cutting my abdomen open... in like what, eight months time?"

     "Three more months, actually.  Real wolves have a fairly short gestation period, while Weres have a slightly longer duration, but still shorter than a human's." 

      "So a total of a four month pregnancy?"  Stiles gasped. 

      "I have to tell you Stiles, that born Were children go through different developmental stages than human children.  In many ways, the physical changes are similar to that of a human child, while in others Were children are much more... advanced." 

     Stiles gulped.  "But I'm human.  Aren't they half human too?"

     Deaton smiled.  "I'm afraid not.  In cases such as these, the offspring will either be a human or a Were, nothing in between.  But the whole process has a tendency of favouring the biological imperative of Were genes.  And as I have said, the development of the fetus, or fetuses, is faster than that of the human counterpart.  Considering the stage of development we've seen in the scan, it is undoubtedly Were."

     Stiles twitched.  "What?  Fetuses?"

     "Although we know it's there, it's still too early in the pregnancy to accurately predict the number of offspring.  Like I said, biological imperative and all that.  Greater numbers are more favourable than smaller ones to ensure a higher likelihood of survival for the species." 

     Now Stiles slid down onto the floor, crunching into himself as he began to hyperventilate.  "Oh my god, this is going to kill me isn't it?"  He said, panicking. 

     "You'll be stronger Stiles."  Deaton said calmly, laying a steady hand on Stiles' shaking shoulders.  "Your body is changing not only to accommodate your chi... new tenants, but it has also changed, or is changing, to ensure that you will not only survive the pregnancy, but will also be able to care for your chi... tenants." 

     "So what, I'm going to be supermom?"  He snarked. 

     "Actually, yes."  Deaton smiled brightly, rocking back on his heels and bringing his hands together likes some sort of comic villain.  "Your body will become much more resilient to disease for one thing.  Not to mention it will be more resistant to trauma.  Your capacity to heal will be greater than an average human's, but not as great as a Were's of course.  But, I have to say, even if you are lactating I would suggest you feed your children formula, with breastfeeding being used as a supplement and not as a sole option."

     "Of course."  Stiles mutters, absentmindedly repeating what Deaton was saying in his head, only half paying attention now.

     "You won't be as strong as a Werewolf, but you will be stronger, faster, and more resilient than you ever were as a human.  Now whether or not these changes only last through the pregnancy, or is a permanent change, that I do not know.  My knowledge on the subject is not complete.  In fact, I'm glad to say that you are my first pregnant, human patient.  Not to mention pregnant, human male patient.  Congratulations!"

     Stiles can't help but groan.  "How am I going to do this?"

     The statement encompassed every worry that passed through Stiles frantic mind since he had first suspected his condition.  He factored in the worries of his youth, of his plans for the future, college, grad school, and even perhaps beyond.  He wasn't even sure if the thing with Derek was forever, even if it felt like it.  But now it started to look like the choice was out of his hands. 

     He factored in his one month, budding relationship with the prospective Were father and a possible life together.  Marriage and children were something that Stiles had considered, well as much as a teenaged boy considers such issues.  He knew they were things that he wanted but they were always planned further down the road, way into the future, past all of the things he wished to explore as he celebrated his youth, and were always vague abstract plans.  The prospect of impending parenthood was more petrifying to Stiles than all of the monsters and the creatures he had ever encountered.  He would rather face the creatures actually. 

     Then there were the other worries.  About the extent of the change this pregnancy had done to his body, and the taboo nature of such a pregnancy.  The selfish nature within him began to question the changes it would bring to his lifestyle, about how it would affect his relationship with his friends, with his father, with Derek.  Would Derek be with him because of it or in spite of it? 

     His mind was muddled by the complexity of the issues that would come up.  Would he be the father?  Is he the mother?  The years of gender identity through media and society instilled on him since birth weighed him down.  Even if he belonged in a more diversely accepting town, raised in a more tolerant society where a great guy like Danny could grow up without having any trouble regarding his sexuality or ethnicity, Stiles considered that his problem was probably beyond the scope of events that anyone could ever foresee.  What would his child, or children, think of him knowing that they were a product of something that was considered the 'other' or outside of the norm?  What would others think of his children?  Of him?  Stiles didn't even quite know what he thought of himself at that moment.  A part of him was ashamed to think about how he cared significantly about what others would think of him if the truth were ever set out.  

     Stiles never thought twice about taking Derek as a lover.  And he did love him.  Despite their romantic relationship being as young as it is, they have now known each other for years and have shared deep, substantial experiences with each other.  Stiles knew he loved Derek.  Whether or not it was platonic, familial, or romantic love, it was still a love that bound him to the Were.  This love wasn't instant.  It was a love forged through pain and experience and bound tightly by time.  This love wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact.  It was also what petrified Stiles to his core.  Even if he was certain of his own feelings, he wasn't sure about Derek's.  Derek wasn't one for overt romanticism.  Picturing the grouchy were serenading him at his balcony made Stiles roll his eyes.    

     The selfish side of him rattled against the change, of the prospective things he would lose if he takes charge of the responsibilities parenthood would require.  He became more aware of the responsibilities of parenthood after he lost his mother.  Before that he was just a child, unaware of the innocent selfishness that all children had.  But once his mother passed he began to see the degree with which his father sacrificed aspects of his life to ensure that his son would grow up in a healthy, happy home.  The selfish side of Stiles questioned whether or not he was capable of the very same sacrifices that his father had done in order to raise him.  Now that he was having children, Stiles not only realized how close to childhood he still was, but how unwilling he was to also give it up.  To Stiles, parenthood defined maturity beyond what knowledge of the supernatural or preternatural he had ever gained, and beyond the sexual exploits he had experienced.  From his father, Stiles knew that parenthood required a level of love, patience, and sacrifice on a level which Stiles questioned he might not be capable of.  At least not right now.  Not so young.  Not so different. 

     At that moment, Stiles was drowning in his own worry. 

     That was how he found himself driving towards his best friends house and walking into Scott's room, uninvited. 

     This led to the second event that pushed Stiles of Beacon Hills.

***

     Scott was in his room frantically talking on the phone.  Stiles could see that his demeanour was harsh, angry, and desperate.  Stiles tentatively walked into the room, trying not to interrupt Scott's frantic conversation. 

     "Allison, please.  Don't do this."  He begged.  Only the shift of Scott's eyes on him let Stiles know that he had been seen before the Were turned away and began pacing across the room.  Stiles settled himself on Scott's bed, listening to his friend.

     To Stiles, his presence wasn't an intrusion as he and Scott had known each other for far too long to ever consider the other's presence at any event as an intrusion.  They were best friends, brothers, family.  That's why Stiles was there in his room waiting patiently at the edge of Scott's bed.  Because despite all of the troubles that either of them went through, eventually, during the most important things, they always found time for each other.  So Stiles waited patiently until he would be told of Scott's problem.  Then he could share his.  Stiles felt that he needed someone to listen to his.  To help him find out what to do.  He needed Scott. 

     "You don't know that.  I'm just saying, there has to be something else going on.  You can't trust him."  Scott growled. 

     There was a beat of silence as Scott listened to whatever Allison was saying on the other line.

     "But that makes no sense!  That doesn't seem like something he would ever do."  Scott said.  "You have to give him a chance to explain.  He wouldn't... he would never..."

     Scott's eyes widened at whatever Allison had said. 

     "You don't believe that."  He said in a harsh whisper.  "After all this time, after everything we've been through, I don't believe you.  You know who I am, who he is.  Why would you ever think that?" 

     Scott chocked at Allison's response, sliding down to the floor, legs giving out at the weight of whatever Allison had said.

     "It's not true.  It's not..."  Scott repeated, as if the words were some sort of talisman at whatever accusation was thrown his way.  "You're not that kind of girl.  You're better than that.  After everything that's happened, you can't let him use you too.  You can't let it happen again."

     Scott chocked back a sob.  "No, that's not what I meant.  He's lying Allison.  He has to be using you.  Why can't you see that?"

     "Allison?"  Scott's eyes widened in shock.  "Allison?"

     Staring at the phone for a minute, he looked up at Stiles with broken eyes, the disbelief clear in his voice.  "She... she hung up..."

     Stiles stood up then and rushed to his friend's side.  "What happened?"

     Scott's responding voice was haunted and monotonous.  "Isaac, he... he tried to kill Chris.  He attacked Allison's dad." 

     "What?"  Stiles said in shock.  "Why?  What happened."

     "I talked to him.  He called me and I found him back in Derek's loft.  He was bleeding, and he was covered in bruises.  He was healing but he said that Allison's dad had beaten him pretty badly."

     "Why would he do that?  That doesn't make any sense."  Stiles asked while leading his friend back towards the bed. 

     "Isaac says that he caught the scent of blood when he was walking home downtown.  He followed it and he says he found Chris beating a cop to death." 

     Stiles eyes widened and his mouth opened to speak, but Scott stopped him before he could ask. 

     "No, it wasn't your dad.  It was one of the new guys in the force.  Isaac says that the guy was pleading at Chris to stop but Chris just kept on beating him into the pavement.  Isaac heard bone breaking and he intervened to stop him.  But before he could land the punch, he says Chris caught his hand and then threw him against the wall.  He says they fought, and that Chris fought like he never did before.  He didn't fight like a hunter.  He didn't even use his weapons, not pulling out his guns or knives that could weaken a Were.  He just used his fists.  Isaac says that Chris didn't fight like a human.  He was stronger, faster, and more resilient than he ever could be.  He said that he was being beaten to the ground, just like the cop.  That he had to completely wolf out to try and defend himself, and that he barely got away alive." 

     Stiles was listening intently, able to catch the implication of what Scott had said.  "And what did Chris say happen?"    

     "Allison says that her dad told her the opposite.  That it was Isaac who attacked the cop and then him.  That Isaac became feral, and tried to kill him when he intervened."  Scott said in a broken voice. 

     "And who does Allison believe?"  Stiles asked.

     "She said that Chris came back to their apartment with broken bones, that he was bleeding severely, that his lips were cut and eyes were swollen.  She says he had deep scratches, like ones found on an animal." 

     As he finished his sentence, Scott stiffened.  "Oh my god."  His voice alight with some sudden realization.  He quickly stood up and took out his phone, calling somebody on speed dial.  A new, fierce and frantic look clouding his eyes. 

     Stiles stood with him. 

     "Derek.  We've got a problem."  Scott took a breath.  "I think Allison is on her way to kill Isaac."   

     That's how they found themselves, later on that evening, in Derek's loft, downtown, with Allison poised to shoot Isaac down with an arrow, Scott crouched in front of Isaac; an angry lover before him, and a dying one behind.  Derek and Boyd stood on either side of Scott, and a bleeding Isaac huddled in a broken mass behind them, an arrow already sticking out of his back.  Stiles stood half-way between the two parties, but not standing in between them, his hands out in a placating gesture. 

     "Allison, you don't want to do this."  Stiles said in as placating a tone as he could manage. 

     "Move Scott."  She demanded.  Her voice was steady but even Stiles could hear the anger seeping through the calm.  "How can you protect a monster?  Make your choice."

     "Allison, please."  Scott begged, his eyes shining with his wolf's eyes.  "There has to be an explanation.  Isaac would never..."

     But Allison didn't wait until he finished his sentence.  She released the arrow, her eyes cold and focused.  The arrow zipped by him quickly, the vibration of the bowstring creating a zipping sound that even Stiles could hear.  Scott caught the arrow shaft with his hands, before the head could even pierce his heart, the shock of it all clear on his face.  He probably never expected her to actually shoot.  He was about to speak again when there was a quick, bright burst of light from the arrow tip and Scott crumpled to the ground.  Allison was already drawing another arrow from her quiver when Derek and Boyd surged forward, fangs and claws bared, aiming for Allison's throat.

     "No!"  Stiles cried out. 

     Allison's second arrow flew and caught Derek's right shoulder.  He saw the Alpha let out a pained roar as he too fell to the ground from whatever shock the arrow had delivered.  But the Alpha recovered faster than Scott, who was still crumpled on the ground in front of Isaac in a daze, and he pulled the arrow out with a grunt.  In the meantime Allison dodged out of the way as a roaring Boyd landed with a heavy fist swinging down at where she had just stood; the cement floor cracking with the impact.  Allison reached out for something on her back and pulled out a kunai which she then promptly lodged into Boyd's leg.  The Were roared in pain and tottered onto the floor. 

     Derek roared and poised to throw the arrow in his hand back at the girl.  Stiles just had enough time to yell something as he jumped forward taking Allison down to the floor with him, while an arrow zipped by and lodged itself deeply into the far wall in line where Allison's head had just been moments before.  The action brought Stiles down on top of Allison's bow, breaking the weapon in the process and bruising his chest.   

     "Derek, stop!"  Stiles managed to call as he struggled to get up. 

     Allison had swung her feet up in a twirl and had gracefully leapt up as she drew something else from her belt and threw it into the air.  A bright light flashed before their eyes, blinding them, and the sound of glass breaking echoed in the air.  By the time Stiles' eyes adjusted, Derek had already scrambled towards the broken window of the loft, letting out a loud roar into the stark, black night.  Boyd was dragging himself towards Scott, the kunai taken out and thrown down onto the floor, who was bent over Isaac and whispering something in his ear. 

     Heart beating in his chest at the turn of events, Stiles wandered over to where Derek stood, still looking out into the night.  Reaching forward, Stiles tried to place a hand on his shoulder, but Derek dodged out of the way, turning to level Stiles with a look of anger. 

     "Don't touch me."  He said. 

     Surprised at his words, Stiles merely gaped at him as he struggled to form a coherent response.  "Derek..."

     "You took her side."  The accusation heavy in his voice.  His look shifted from cold, to broken, to disappointed.  "When it came down to it, you took her side." 

     Struggling to understand the situation he found himself in, Stiles stammered.  "I... what?  Derek, I'm not taking anybody's side.  This makes no sense, I was just..."

     "You took her side."  He accused again, stopping Stiles mid-sentence.  "She tried to kill Isaac.  Tried to kill Scott, Boyd, and I.  Then when it came down to it you took her side.  You saved her life." 

     The surprise of his accusation left Stiles dumbfounded, his mind clouding in shock.  "What?  No.  I'm not... I'm not taking anybody's side.  It's Allison, she's pack." 

     "She's not pack!"  Derek screamed.  It was a scream.  His voice was loud, echoing in the huge space, the tenor of his accusation lingering in the air long after the sound disappeared.  "She had a choice.  She chose to try and execute Isaac.  To kill all of us.  To try and kill Scott of all people!  And you made your choice when you saved her life."     

     "What, no."  Stiles shook his head at the accusation, the panic beginning to rise from deep within his chest. 

     "You had a choice.  You didn't even protect me, any of us."  He glowered at him.  The pain in Stiles' chest flared at the anger in Derek's eyes.  "You chose to protect the threat to the pack."

     For once, Stiles was at a lost for words.  The night was still and quiet, but there was a cacophony of sound pounding in Stiles' ear.  It was deafening, overwhelming, almost drowning out Derek's words.  Perhaps it was the sound of his own heart breaking. 

     "After everything we've been through,"  Derek began in a harsh whisper, "everything.  When it came down to it, you turned your back against the pack."

     Stiles held his breath, his heart beating loud in his ears and drowning in his own thoughts. 

     "I trusted you."  Derek let it out with a harsh whisper, turning his eyes away from Stiles. 

     Derek moved then, away from a dumbfounded Stiles.  He walked towards the others, bent down and gathered an unconscious Isaac into his arms.  Scott whimpered as Derek moved towards the door.  Scott turns towards Stiles with a look of longing and moved to come closer but then stopped.  He tilted his head and frowned at the floor for a moment, looking deep in thought, before turning back to Derek and followed him out of the door, Boyd slowly limping at his heels.  Stopping at the door to turn partway towards where Stiles still stood, confused and broken, he gave Stiles a long lingering look that Stiles couldn't read.

     "I don't want you near us ever again."  He said in a low, slow voice, but loud enough for Stiles to hear in the deafening silence.  Then there was only the sound of footsteps following him out, leaving Stiles with only the company of his broken heart.

     He might have called out to Scott.  Called out Derek's name.  Or it might have just been the desperate sound of his own desire blaring in his ear. 

     He doesn't even remember leaving.  He wasn't prepared to leave, nor was he prepared for what he would find when he came back home.

***

     Even now Stiles can't remember how he got home that night.  The light on the clock said it was half past one.  It took him a moment to realize that he was in his parent's bedroom, now only his father's, sitting at the edge of the bed.  What time he had left Derek's place, and how he got back, he didn't know.  Stiles was numb at the turn of events that evening.  Looking for comfort, he took in the surroundings of his parents room, revelling in the pictures along the dresser that held a smiling woman.  The scent of his mother still clung faintly in the room, her perfume, powders and sprays still laid out on the dresser next to the bed.  Wanting an escape from the pain in his chest, Stiles wanted to just curl up with the sent of his parents around him.  If there was one thing he got from being around Werewolves so much was the overwhelming desire to be comforted by familiar scents during times of pain.  At that moment in time Stiles was in a significant amount of pain.  Standing up and walking towards his parent's closet he had every intention of taking a pile of his parent's clothes and just burying himself in their scent on their bed.  What he didn't expect was a body falling on top of him, dragging him tot he floor, when he pulled the closet door open. 

     Scrambling with a scream, he pushed the body off of him and jumped to his feet, running back until he felt the wall against his back.  His heart beating fast, his breathing frantic, it took a moment for him to calm enough to really see the body.  It was sprawled on the floor with its face pointed up into the ceiling.  So was its back.  The neck had been broken and turned until it was stretched all the way back.  Even in the orange lamp light glow of the room Stiles could clearly see the features of its face.  The skin was taught and the cheeks were sunken.  Its colour was a dull grey in most places, and a smudged black in others.  The eyes were wide open, but empty of all life, and its hair was brittle and dull.  The familiarity of the face was what drew Stiles to move forward, the beating of his heart once again rising to a crescendo in his ears. 

     Kneeling down just beside the body, clearly devoid of life for quite some time, he looked at the impossible face of a dead man.  Its face was familiar.  It was the face that had given him so many smiles.  The face that had kiss him after nightmares or to chase away the pain.  The face that chastised him every time he did something really bad.  The face that laughed with him when he was happy.  The face that wept with him when he was sad.  It was the face of family.  This dry, sunken face of a corpse bore the image of his father. 

     A moment passed and moved into eternity. 

     Stiles might have held his breath.  For how long he didn't know.  But the wracking gasps that escaped his throat as he began to clutch at the frozen, brittle body of his dead father was completely other in his ears.  At that time he couldn't understand.  Were those sounds something he made, or something someone else made?  He was far too busy crying out the name of the body in his arms. 

     Stiles vision blurred as tears streamed down his face. 

     The impossibility of it overwhelmed him.  The memories in his head baffled him. 

     He had just seen the man that very morning.  Had said goodbye to him as he left for work.  He had not answered back.  He had not looked back at Stiles.  But he had clearly been alive. 

      This was impossible.  The body in his hands had been dead far longer than the hours since he last saw his father.  It was like the body of a corpse after spending months and months in a coffin in the ground.  Like the body of corpses who were mummified and buried in sarcophagi.  But the resemblance was there.  It was clear.  It was familiar.  The dead man in his arms wore his father's face. 

     How long the dead body was in his arms, Stiles didn't know.  But the dawning realization that it was real had him scrambling backwards and away from the corpse.  He ran out into the hallway and scrambled down the stairs, falling into a heap just outside the kitchen where he proceeded to vomit the contents of his empty stomach on the floor.  A huddled weeping mass on the floor, it took him a while to hear the footsteps coming up behind him. 

     "Stiles, are you alright?"  A familiar voice called out to him. 

     The shock of hearing it pulled Stiles out of his despair, his eyes wide and staring at the floor underneath him, a steady stream of tears still pouring out of them and the heady scent of his own vomit sour in his nose.  His breathing became shallow, his body wound tight in distress. 

     "Son, are you alright?" 

     Turning slowly he faced the voice that had called out to him.  Looking up into the kitchen area, he saw a tall man with a Sheriff's jacket looking down at him from in front of the backdoor. 

     "What happened?  Is everything okay?"  Stiles could hear the concern in the man's voice, but he saw that it was absent in his eyes. 

     Slowly moving himself up, Stiles kept his eyes trained on the man before him, his mind racing at the possibilities.  

     What he found upstairs was real, he was convinced.  He held it in his hands, the image of it burned into his eyes, the scent of it had overwhelmed him.  The dull scent of a long dead and dried up corpse.         

     But the man before him also bore the face of his father.  It wore his clothes.  It had his voice.  It spoke with concern.  But it could not hide the indifference in its eyes.  It took a step forward and stopped when Stiles automatically took a step back. 

     The man tilted its head in wonder, and very slowly turned its head to the right, towards the stairs and up into the bedroom beyond before slowly turning back to Stiles. 

     "Oh son, you didn't go up into my room did ya?"  The creature said in his father's voice.  With his father's face.  It was a teasing sound.  Light.  Jocular.  Stiles couldn't think of anything so unfunny in his life. 

     "You're not my father."  Stiles gasped out, unaware that he had been holding his breath.  But the moment the words burst out of him he knew that they were true.  He didn't know how long it had been, but he knew that his father had been dead for sometime and that this man before him, the impostor, the creature, had infiltrated his life and he didn't even know it. 

     Not taking his eyes off the man in front of him Stiles quickly shifted to his left, moving closer to the front door.  The man followed suit and matched him pace for pace, forcing Stiles to a stop. 

     "Yeah, that's not happening."  He said with a leer, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Stiles.  "Oh Stiles, it wasn't supposed to be this way.  But being your father is more... difficult, than I thought."

     The man took a step forward, gun still in his hand, leering at Stiles.  Stiles' mind raced as he considered all of the options before him.  Stiles stood in the living room, while the creature with his father's face stood at the edge of the kitchen not fifteen feet away, and walking closer, slowly, every second. 

     "See, I thought it would be fun being the Sheriff.  But it's so much... work.  Not to mention the things you have to know, and the way you have to act.  I thought your father was a simple man.  He certainly looked simple enough."  The creature said while tracing its face with a hand.  "But I found it surprisingly difficult to acclimate.  People have grown suspicious, and it's becoming more difficult for me to live with this face." 

      The creature with his father's face sighed resentfully, hands limping down to his side.  Including the hand that held the gun.  Stiles leapt at the chance, surging forward and aiming for a tackle.  But before he could even grasp the creature in his hands, the Sheriff swung his an arm wide, almost lazily but fast enough and with enough force to slam Stiles to the ground and slide across the room before crashing on to his back on the far wall near the stairs. 

     "I don't really need this you know."  The creature chuckled while looking at the gun, which he then promptly threw into the kitchen sink.  "I can't shoot you Stiles.  I can't take you wounded like that.  Well, I could.  But then I'd have the wound too.  I'll settle with bruises.  It'll be easier to explain.  It'll be easier to get sympathy that way." 

     Stiles tried to push himself up, trying to ignore the growing pain in his jaw, and the throbbing ache of his shoulder.  Slowly working himself towards the stairs, he began to crawl up the steps.  The creature crossed the distance to where Stiles lay slowly, relishing at the way the boy continued to struggle.  Reaching him in just a few seconds, the creature grabbed Stiles' feet and pulled him back down the few steps he had managed to work his way up of and lay him at his feet.  The creature then squatted down on to Stiles' waist, hands grasping Stiles' shoulder, and smirked at the boy as he bent down and gave Stiles' neck a long, slow, lick. 

     Stiles shuddered at the sensation.  Disgusted.  Afraid.  In pain. 

     "What are you?"  He managed to ask in a harsh whisper, struggling hopelessly against the weight of the creature on top of him.

    "Can't you call me daddy?"  The creature crooned, rocking his hips, grinding down on Stiles' crotch. 

     Stiles lifts his hands as he tries to push the creature away but failing miserably as the creature took hold of his hands and bound them with one of his own.  Holding Stiles' hands above his head, the creature reached into a pant pocket and pulled out a switchblade.

     "What are you?"  Stiles asks again, craning his neck away from the switchblade as the creature brings the metal down to caress his neck, making a trail down to Stiles' throat and clipped the collar of Stiles shirt before proceeding to tear it down. 

     "Does it matter?"  The Thing murmurs, leaning down and nips at Stiles' collarbone with his dad's teeth.

     "Stop."  Stiles sobs.  "Just stop.  Stop wearing my dad's face." 

     The creature sighs into his throat and raised its head to peer into Stiles' eyes.  "Sorry, I have a tendency of playing with my food.  So to speak.  You're not really food.  My food is, well, food.  You're more like... a t-shirt.  Your dad was like a vintage t-shirt, while you're brand spanking new.  Well... relatively new." 

     Stiles struggles in the creature's arms, and even tries to lift his hips up in an effort to throw the weight of the creature off of him.  But the creature just grunted and moaned in exaggerated pleasure at the movement. 

     "Whoa.  Easy now.  If you keep doing that I'll start getting the wrong idea."  It says while clucking its tongue.  It brings the switchblade to a spot just below his clavicle, and pierces the skin with the blade, driving it fairly deep, and making a cut that trailed along towards Stiles' sternum. 

     Stiles cried out at the pain of being torn apart while, frustratingly, the creature began making shushing sounds as he pulls the knife out and drives it into the floor before going back to study Stiles.

     "Shh, it's not that deep.  I'm sorry Stiles.  I never planned to hurt you, or do anything to you, not really.  I consider myself the good one.  But I just never realized your dad was so complicated."  It whined. 

     "Oh yeah,"  Stiles snarked, his throat raspy from crying out.  "That's my dad.  He's a complicated man, but no one understands him but his woman." 

     The Thing just nods, obviously not getting the reference.  Stiles couldn't help but laugh and then winced as the deed brought the pain on his chest to the fore. 

     "Okay, dude.  Yeah.  You totally didn't get that.  I have a feeling that you're about to take my face, or whatever it is you do, but you gotta understand,"  He goes for a chuckle, trying to avoid any major movements to aggravate the fresh wound.  The thought that he was goading the thing crossed Stiles mind, but at this point in the night, he was far from giving a damn.  "No one's going to believe you're me."

     "Oh I don't know.  I think I tend to adapt well enough.  I've lived this long.  Not to mention, I was your dad for about a month and you didn't,"  The thing began to say slowly, leaning forward to speak close to Stiles face, "even.  Notice.  A thing." 

     Stiles' throat hitched and he gasped at the thought that a creature had taken his father's place for a whole month and never noticing a thing.  He couldn't help the tears that began to fall from his eyes.  he definitely couldn't help the creature leaning down to trail its tongue, his father's tongue, along the skin where his tears fell.  Its tongue trailed down, making its way down Stiles' throat, briefly sucking on Stiles' Adam's apple, and towards the incision it made on Stiles' skin.      

     "I think you'll be better though.  You're easy enough to understand.  Teenagers always are.  Thankfully you're nearly matured and quite close to being your dad's size.  The minor differences will be negligible."  It murmured into his skin as it lapped at Stiles' wound, making Stiles hiss as the cut stung.  The creature pulled back again to level a look at Stiles.  "Look, it's nothing personal.  Really.  I just need a new face.  Yours will do just fine." 

     With that declaration the creature clamped down on the wound with its mouth and began to suck.  Stiles couldn't help but think how odd it felt.  It didn't feel like the creature was sucking that much of Stiles' blood but it felt like It was taking something more, something substantial from Stiles' body.  Then after a few seconds the pain began to flare.  A sharp burning pain at the point where the creature had bitten down, sucking at his skin, its tongue lapping at the cut, began to overwhelm Stiles' senses.  Stiles' body buckled and he cried out, the pain increasing and flaring.  But just as it was coming close to being unbearable, the pain stopped as the creature reared back with a sharp inhale and staggered to its feet, stepping back with deep, desperate, gasps. 

     "What the fuck?"  It gasped, clutching at its stomach as if it were in pain. 

     Stiles spared a moment to feel the surprise of the creature's weight coming off of him.  But most of all, feel the surprise at finding the creature no longer wore his father's face.  It wore his.  It was him who stood there, wearing his father's uniform.  It was him who stood there gasping in pain.  It was him who stood there, clutching at his stomach and proceeding to vomit all over the floor.  The creature fell to its knees as it continued to dry heave and gag. 

     It turns its face up to Stiles, surprise evident in its eyes.  His eyes.  "What's wrong with you?"

     The statement rocked Stiles out of his reverie, back into the situation at hand and the opportunity that had presented itself.  Taking advantage of the burst of adrenaline the turn of events had given him, he leapt to his feet, tore the blade from where it stood on the floor, and surged at the creature kneeling on the ground in front of him. 

     The thing with Stiles' face tried to clamber up but it was unsteady on its feet from whatever had hurt it.  Stiles reached forward with blade in hand and slashed at the air as the Thing staggered forward at the same time, its throat meeting with the swipe of the blade.  The Thing made a gurgling sound, a deep red line appeared at its neck and blood began to pour out of the tear.  The creature clutched at its throat, eyes wide with shock, continuing to make awful gurgling sounds as it tottered backwards until it fell on its back.  Stiles watched as the Thing continued to struggle with the wound on its neck on the floor until it stopped, hands falling uselessly to the side. 

     The sight of his own body dead and bloody on the ground is what did it.  Stiles crumpled to the floor and the deep wracking sobs came back.  He hunched into himself, dropping the knife somewhere to his side, and let out a loud piteous wail of grief.  His body shook as the tears cascaded down his face.  He doesn't know how long he cried, how long he let himself drown in his own grief, before calling Deaton.  The vet arrived shortly thereafter, finding Stiles lying on his side in the living room floor looking at his own dead body. 

     Stiles barely remembers the feel of a hand on his shoulder, of a voice calling his name. 

     Thinking back on it now he didn't quite know what was said or done between the time Deaton arrived at the house and when he was a frozen huddled mass on a makeshift bed at Deaton's office.  By the time he got back to himself, Deaton was already checking over his body. 

     "Are they alright?"  Stiles chocked out as Deaton finished his exam.

     Deaton nods, giving him a kind smile.  "Yes Stiles, they're quite alright.  The wound on your clavicle has healed quite well.  As I said, your body currently has increased abilities well beyond that of an average human being.  But unfortunately it will leave a scar.  But all things considered, we'll take it."

     "All things considered, I'd rather it not have happened."  He mumbled. 

     "I'm sorry."  Deaton simply said, laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder.  "The presence of a Doppleganger is quite troubling.  But to have targeted your father and you... you have my deepest condolences."

      "Is that what it was?  I didn't know."  Stiles aid, beginning to sob again.  "I should have known.  Why didn't I know?  I'm so stupid.  I could have... I should have..."

      "No, Stiles.  You must not blame yourself."  Deaton shook him fiercely, levelling their eyes so Stiles would look into his.  "You must understand that Dopplegangers are very difficult creatures to find since their whole nature is based upon blending so seamlessly into any given population.  It is a fearsome ability, but an imperfect one.  In fact, the limits of that very ability is what killed the creature and saved your life."

     Stiles remained quiet, not really knowing what to say.  He felt overwhelmed, tired, dizzy.  He felt like he was drowning in waking nightmare.

     "You see,"  Deaton continued.  "A Doppleganger may be capable of appropriating the form of another human, but they are limited by nature.  It is dangerous for them to take a form from someone who is dissimilar from their body shape for it would be an imperfect copy and easily recognizable as a fraud.  But most of all they avoid taking the form of the sickly and the dying, for they would copy the very illness in those individuals into themselves."

     Stiles frowned at the revelation, a new type of concern bubbling in him but Deaton continues his explanation.  "Let me assure you that you are not sickly or dying, but you are another thing that Dopplegangers avoid.  A pregnant individual.  Although they can copy the mother, or in your case the father, they are unable to copy the child in the womb.  They may be able to copy the womb and the changes of the body that accompanies pregnancy, but the womb shall be empty.  This will cause their new bodies to reject the change for it will be a body built to give nourishment to a child that doesn't exist within them.  In the process, their bodies would break down from the inside.  Stiles, being pregnant saved your life." 

     Stiles chocked back a sob he was holding. 

     "I knew something was right, but I was just so busy..." _screwing around with Derek_ , is the thought Stiles couldn't voice.  He was insisting, not caring about Deaton's description of Doppleganger capabilities.  His father was dead.  It was his fault.  "So fucking blind... and now my father's dead because of it.  I knew something wasn't right, that something was off... but I kept on justifying it with excuses about college and growing up... but I'm such a fucking child.  I'm such a fucking selfish child."

     "Stiles..." Deaton began.

     "I don't know how I can do this.  I don't know how I can have children when I couldn't even take care of my father."  He cried.  "Here I was complaining about being embarrassed about being pregnant, and stupid things like masculinity and my sexuality when I should have been more concerned about family.  Now he's gone and it's my fault.  I chose a boyfriend, then I almost chose my pride.  I'm an idiot.  I don't know how I can do this." 

     "Stiles,"  Deaton breathed, his words low and serious, "There are... options... that you could take.  Should you chose to, need to, I can... terminate the pregnancy." 

     Stiles stilled at the words.  Even his tears were frozen on his cheeks, hovering before the inevitable fall. 

      "It's..." Deaton continued, "It's not a simple matter.  But it is possible.  You have to understand that this is not a simple human pregnancy, therefore the termination of the fetus, or fetuses, would require more... extraordinary methods."

     There was a sharp intake of breath as Stiles began to fully absorb what was being said.  What was being offered.  His being shook to the core. 

     "It will be your decision..." Then Deaton considered for a moment, "but I highly suggest telling Derek before agreeing.  It... he would appreciate knowing.  He would help during and after the procedure." 

     "No."  Stiles simply said.  "No."

     Stiles knew that Deaton was baiting him.  The man must know by now that something must be amiss, wondering why the first, and only, person he called after... the situation... was him.  Derek and the pack's absence within the room was painfully obvious to them both, and Stiles knew that Deaton knew that Derek or the pack had not been told about the events of the night, nor of Stiles' pregnancy.

     "So you wish to..." Deaton continued.

     "No."  Stiles said sharply.  "I will not terminate this pregnancy.  I may be stupid... but I can change."

     "Stiles, you weren't..."

     "Yes, I was."  He insisted.  "After all the supernatural shit I've been through.  All the crazy stuff that I've seen and no matter how I try to prepare for the unusual and the unexpected, I still get blindsided by my own carelessness.  But I refuse to let this child, or my children, be the negative consequence of my actions."

     "Stiles listen to me."  Deaton insisted.  "You did not kill your father.  Your actions did not result in the death of your father.  You are in no way to blame..."

     "Yes I am."  He said, his voice stronger and more resolute than even he expected from himself.  "I was the one who convinced Scott that night to look for a dead body in the woods and drag us all into this... this life.  I was the one who kept my father in the dark and unprotected for so long.  I let him live in ignorance, foolishly thinking that it would spare him the trouble of dealing with the supernatural when that very ignorance is what cost him his life."

     "You've done more than your share of..."

     "What?  Research?"  He said bitterly.  "When?  During the crisis?  After it?  After all this time, and all the crap that's happened in this town and I've done nothing to prepare for _anything_ that could happen _before_ they did.  I was so arrogant, being so proud about my ability to figure stuff out.  Make believe I was some sort of detective because I was in the know of a world that my own father was oblivious to.  I even foolishly believed that I was so familiar with parental responsibility just because I took care of my dad when my mom died by bringing him healthy food.  But looking back on it now, with the exception of my father's diet, I made absolutely no effort in even preparing for anything before they happened.  All I ever did was try to solve my problems, or other people's problems, when they already fell on our laps and had no choice but to either deal with them, or die.  Differentiating between burgers and fries and a salad doesn't make me an adult." 

     "But there will always be something else, wouldn't there?"  Stiles whispered.  "I was so concerned about myself and how I would appear, I never considered what it would be like for them."     

     He took a breath, staring fiercely into Deaton's eyes, his hands coming down to caress his stomach.  "I can't do that anymore.  Not when someone else needs me to be better."

     "Stiles, you can't... you couldn't have prepared for situations like these.  If you blame yourself for everything that occurs because you couldn't predict them happening, you would be spending the rest of your life haunted by regret.  No matter how prepared or knowledgeable we think we are, something or someone will always arrive to prove us wrong."  Deaton took a breath before continuing.  "You are not alone in proving foresight may be vain.  The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain." 

     Deaton's voice took on a softer tone as he continued, "Living life regretting the past and fearing the future is not a life.  If you wish to continue down this road you plan, do it for your children and for yourself as you live your lives well in the present."

     Stiles was silent as he considered his words, absentmindedly caressing his stomach. 

     _Down this road you plan..._ is what he had said.  It was as if Deaton knew what Stiles had meant to do before he even made the decision.  The supernatural had torn apart his life.  He refused to let the supernatural take this from him too. 

     "Can you help me?"  Was what Stiles asked, looking expectantly at Deaton. 

     "Of course."  Deaton had said.  "What would you have me do?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Ninja!Allison is a thing 'cause of the recent episode where she pulls out a Kunai and snuck up to pull Isaac into the room. 
> 
> I was going to attach the continuation of the story wherein Stiles is finally having a discussion with Isaac and Juun. But because I was late putting this up, and I decided to move shit around by making this chapter insanely long and explaining more back story - I'm pushing that to next chapter. 
> 
> I know there are some weird characteristic stuff in this chapter (i.e. Scott and Stiles), but remember... Chekhov's gun!
> 
> I /will/ try to be more consistent with my posts. Like Goldenpetal13 (who writes awesome stories and consistently updates to boot!). So I apologize and aim to be better. 
> 
> Thanks for the readership and the support guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the rest of the story. I'll work towards making it more lighthearted in the following chapters.
> 
> Oh crap... I probably should update tags too shouldn't I? But what? Suggestions?


	5. Watch our Fortune Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles talks with the Weres. Isaac starts to talk about the night Stiles died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming. Sorry. I got pulled into my other story (Absolute Boyfriend Stiles!), and this chapter was a pain in the ass because of a certain part that I struggled with. It pissed me off because it was just that one important part - you know? I already have a lot of the other stuff, but I was just so unhappy with that little part that I couldn't get past it. Frankly, I'm still not all that happy about it... I'm just content with it. Anyways, here it is! Chapter 5!
> 
> Title is from PSAPP: "Always in my Head"

     In the shoulder of a dust strewn lonely highway, Stiles steps out of a car armed only with the bares bones of a specific plan in mind.  His brain raced, firing off one idea after the other, arguing with himself about the actions he was doing, the risks he was taking, and the possible mistake he was making. Hesitating for a few seconds, looking down at his feet with one final effort to round up some courage, he turns to where Isaac's car was parked behind him.  Raising his hand to wave he motions for the two Weres to come out.  Isaac practically jumps out of the car before walking briskly towards Stiles.  But Stiles could see the caution in Isaac's eyes and the way his right hand hung in the air as if carefully reaching for something that at any moment could move out of his grasp. 

     The girl is slower to get out of the car and calls Isaac's name, the warning clear in her voice.  Isaac stops at the sound, not far from where Stiles stood, but his eyes never leaving the body in front of him.  The girl moves to stand beside her pack mate and to stare at Stiles with critical eyes.    

     This was the moment of truth for Stiles.  A moment he wished would never have come just as much as he wished it did.  They were silent for quite some time, Stiles standing awkwardly in front of them studying the people before him, the two Weres standing close to one another, their bodies tense and their eyes aimed at Stiles.  There were many things that Stiles needed to say and just as many he shouldn't. 

     "I'm sorry if I scared you."  Isaac said in a calm voice, the smile wide and clear on his face, breaking the silence between them. 

     Stiles didn't respond for a long minute, just looking back and forth between Isaac and the girl.  This was the crux of the moment, the very second when Stiles would find out whether or not every plan that had crossed his mind would work.  His heart pounded in his chest and Stiles embraced it. 

     "Who are you?"  He asks, aiming the question at the girl.  He already knew who Isaac was, he couldn't direct the question to him. But he could ask it of the girl, of the stranger, before him.  This part of the deceit was easy enough to manage, at least in the beginning.  Looking back and forth between the two of them and then asking the question of the girl would make it seem like the question was aimed for the both of them instead of just for her.  Stiles prayed that that would be the case now.     

     The question was like a slap that snapped Isaac's grin into a tight lipped shock and Stiles' heart constricted for a moment at the pain evident in Isaac's face.  He hoped the brief clenching of his heart didn't make a sound while simultaneously fighting off the relief he felt at the evident result of his gamble working, desperate to keep the beating of his heart as fast as possible.   

     "Wha... what?"  The Were asked, confused. 

     "Why are you following me?  And what the hell was that in the parking lot?"  His voice rose with the tension of his questions.  "What do you want from me?"  He asks, making sure to stare the girl in the eyes as he asks them, darting looks towards Isaac in between questions.  In Stiles' mind, the questions were meant for her and her alone, but his gamble rested on Isaac believing it was for him as well.      

     Isaac, so speechless at the question, just stood mute and staring at Stiles.  It was the girl who broke the silence, stepping forward slowly with her hands up in a placating way.  She stopped walking when Stiles took a step back, his fisted hands twitching, not trusting the unfamiliar Were.  He looked calm, but he hoped that the rapid beating of his heart would be deafening to the ears of the Weres.    

     "I'm Juun.  This is Isaac."  The girl says, studying Stiles' face as she spoke, her eyes critical and curious.  "And we think that your name is Stiles.  Is it?"

     This was it.  The important juncture in Stiles' gamble.  The moment when his plan, hinging on all of his speculations and knowledge of Were capabilities, would either fail or pass.  It was a gamble where failure could mean jeopardizing his children's futures. 

     "People call me Robert Bates."  Stiles said to Juun, hoping his heart was beating far too fast to distinguish the lies from the truth.  Although, technically, it was not a lie.  In this dust strewn, sun burned place, Stiles was known as Robert Bates.  "I was just getting off work when that guy," he said, nodding towards Isaac, "pounced on me and cried into my neck.  Next thing I know he's screaming at something behind me and I turned to see you jumping towards me.  And you weren't right.  You had claws, and fangs, and your eyes weren't human."

     He couldn't deny what he saw, the shift was wholly evident on the girl at that time.  And he knew that Isaac wouldn't deny them, having expected him to be that dead boy from so long ago.  He also couldn't risk creating any story that could back him into a direct lie.  It was a tight rope that Stiles was walking, and beneath him lay the fires of his past waiting to consume the life he had built for the past six years.   

     The words that poured out of his mouth seemed to have confused the Weres.  "So you did see that.  But... you're not running away.  You weren't driving like you were trying to get away.  If you were, it was a really inept way to try and loose someone tailing you.  Not to mention, how you've pulled over the side of a mostly empty highway to talk to the very people who pounced on you fifteen minutes ago, one of which you noticed had abnormal claws, fangs, and eyes.  I'm sorry, I'm just really confused too.  Why didn't you try harder to run away?"

     The two just stood there staring at each other, Isaac still a ball of surprise and tension beside his pack mate, and Stiles' heartbeat still pounding away as if it aimed to beat out of his chest. 

     "Right."  He nodded.  The conversation was a success in Stiles' mind.  Neither of the Weres called him out on his evasions, and made no indication that they suspected his responses as such.  Thinking back on it his mind flashing back to the secretive Veterinarian and his admiration for Deaton grew as he realized just how difficult it must have been for him to walk the fine, abstract line between reality and perception.  A line made all the more  difficult in the company of wolves that could detect lies.  "Okay.  We gotta talk.  But not here.  Just... just follow me."  He said simply before quickly getting back into his car and driving away, not even bothering to look back behind him.  He didn't bother holding back the chocked, panicked breathe that began to escape his lips as he drove through the highway. 

     There were parts of him that wanted to crumble under the pressure of it all and just lose himself in Isaac's arms, confessing the truth and sharing his children.  But it was that girl that pulled Stiles back from that desire.  It was her fangs, her claws, and the bloodlust that he saw in her eyes in that parking lot that convinced him that this course of action he was undertaking was as good a path as he could manage under the circumstances.  He could not, would not, risk the normalcy of his children's lives for his own, selfish, desires to relieve his memories of pack.  At least not until he knew it was the right thing to do.  Stiles weighed the options in his mind; to deny his children their father?  Or to deny them a normal life?  But the risk of his children reliving his adolescent life was an anchor that pulled him back from the deep, buried desires of his heart.

     His hands tightening on the steering wheel, Stiles drives to Parowan with a heavier conscience and a bruised heart. 

     Parowan was a small city ten minutes from Summit.  Amongst the dull greyish-brown land were meticulously crafted green fields and tall, sloping mountains that stood sentry along the southern horizon.  Not far into the town limits was a walk-by/drive-thru only diner built next to a park.  Although the diner was a popular meeting place at night, the crowds were usually sparse during the afternoons.  Parking at a stall next to the park, Stiles waited for his companions to arrive.  

     "I'm hungry."  Stiles said as the two Weres stepped out of their car parked next to his.  "This place is pretty decent food-wise, and they have killer milk shakes.  I'm tired and hungry, and I don't want to talk to you guys without something in my stomach and sucrose in my veins." 

     Not waiting for a response, Stiles walks past them and towards the order window.

     "Right, two double cheeseburgers, some curly fries, the chicken nuggets, one large strawberry milkshake, one large chocolate milkshake, and an orange juice, please.  Thanks."  Stiles says to a bored looking, pimply teenager.

     "That all for you guys?"  Pimple-face asked tiredly. 

     "No, that was just mine."  Turning towards his two companions, Stiles raises and eyebrow.  "How about you guys?"

     "We're good.  We just ate."  Isaac says with a soft smile on his face.

     "Actually, I wouldn't mind a strawberry milkshake."  The other Were said to the teen.

     Turning back to the cashier, Stiles slaps a twenty on the counter.

     "Oh, no I can pay for mine." 

     "It's fine.  It's on me."  Stiles mutters. 

     The three stand in an awkward silence as the sole teenager in the booth makes their order, Stiles avoiding their gaze and the wolves never taking their eyes off of him.  Stiles didn't know how long it was before he realized that a tall, warm, body was standing far too close to his back.  Close enough that eventually he was able to distinguish the feel of hot breath on his skin as opposed to the dry, cool, wind that blew through the air. 

     "Whoa, back up.  Stop that."  Stiles tells Isaac, who had apparently been very busy smelling Stiles' head. 

     "I'm sorry."  He says quietly before stepping back. 

     Taking their order from the counter, Stiles walks towards one of the far park benches next to a group of fir trees. 

     Looking around herself, Juun turns to look at Stiles curiously.  "This is where you wanted to talk?"

     Stiles levels her with a look and a mouthful of curly fries.  "Wash 'ungry."

     Isaac smiles at him.  Stiles shifts uncomfortably in his seat after seeing the look on Isaac's face.  Moving his right hand in circles in the air, Stiles motions for the two Weres to talk.          

     "What?"  Juun asks.  "I thought you were going to be the one talking."

     Swallowing an especially large bite of cheeseburger, Stiles rolls his eyes at the girl.  "Busy eating.  You talk.  What the hell was that back there?  Why are you here?"

     Stiles knew he needed to control the conversation, but he was also wary about being the one to talk first.  His two questions were general enough, avoiding any specific identification that would indicate some sort of familiarity between them, while at the same time sating his curiosity about how the two Weres found him in the middle of nowhere. 

     "We were just passing through."  Juun answers.

     Briefly looking at his companion, Isaac turns to Stiles and speaks in a calm voice.  "We drove here from Vegas.  We're on our way to Salt Lake City.  Juun needed to pee."

     Stiles grimaces through his burger.  "Lemme guess, Olly's, right?  No wonder you ended up at our diner." 

     Isaac nods while Juun blushes.  "Yeah, that place was a dive.  I was... surprised to find you at that diner Stiles.  I'm sorry if I scared you."

     "Rob."  Stiles interjects as he drinks half of each of his milkshakes.

     "What?"  Isaac asks, confused.

     "People call me Rob."  Stiles says, pointing to himself.  "Or Robbie.  I've also been called sweetie, honey, baby, hey you, and my all time favourite, yo asshole."

     Scrunching his face in confusion, and clenching his fists, Isaac turns to Juun.  "I don't get this.  I don't understand what's happening." 

     "What he means is..." Juun cuts in, moving to touch her pack mate soothingly on the shoulder.  "You're an awful lot like someone he used to know back in Beacon Hills, where we're from.  A guy named Stiles.  Stilinski.  Stiles was his nickname name.  Does that sound familiar?"

      Stiles takes a swallow of his apple juice, "of course it does." 

     He watches as the two wolves startle, Isaac standing straighter and looking at his face with sharper eyes.  Stiles looks him straight in the eyes.  "That's the name you sobbed into my body after you tackled me in the parking lot."

     Looking defeated, Isaac slumps back into the bench.  But Juun leans forward and catches Stiles' eye with her own.  "Who are you?"  She asks seriously, eyes boring into his. 

     This was one of the questions that Stiles dreaded.  It was a question he couldn't directly deny nor was it one he could feign ignorance of.  No matter how much he wished to forget his name it was something that he could never leave behind. 

      Mind working in overdrive, Stiles hedges, trying to answer the question without actually answering it and in the meantime working hard to get his heart rate up and perhaps muddle the lie, if he ends up telling one. 

     "I've been a lot of things over the years.  Things haven't been easy for me for a while, you know?  I've been a lot of people.  People that I remember, people I've forgotten, and people I'll never forget."  And that was the honest-to-goodness truth for Stiles.  He had changed his name multiple times during his pregnancy _and_ after it, as he moved the kids all over the western sea board and into the mid-west.  He had been a lot of people as he ran.  And a lot of people had known him as something else, while a lot of people had never known him at all.  But it all wasn't for his sake as much as it was for theirs, his children.  Stiles' heart started beating fast at the thought of his children, at the thought of the life he left behind, and at the thought of everything he had lost. 

     "I'd remember being Stiles.  That's not a name you'd likely forget, is it?  Especially if it's a name that hangs around you guys."  He hedges.  It was the truth.  He would never forget that name, no matter how much he wished to.  Too many memories were attached to that name.  Too many lives were wound in its letters, with just as many deaths.  "A lot of things can come from a name you know.  Memories and expectations, and all that.  Robert is a good name, I think.  A solid name you know?  A normal one.  Just like everyone else's." 

     "I like Stiles better."  Isaac says quietly, staring at the wooden table.

     Stiles could not hide the beating of his heart, or the skip that occurred at hearing Isaac's broken voice.  Isaac looks up at him expectantly and Juun tilted her head curiously. 

     "Why do you look so sad?"  Stiles asks, trying to regain control of the situation he suspects was edging to spin out of control.  Keeping one's heart rate up persistently fast was no easy task.  He thought he could try and overload on sugar with the milkshakes, but he doubts that they were actually doing anything remotely helpful other than being delicious.  So perhaps he could shift the conversation from who Stiles was now, to who Stiles was, hoping it might become easier to talk about himself in the past tense after discussing history with the Weres.  But most important of all, Stiles hoped it might satisfy the curiosity that had haunted him all these years.  Curiosity of the life he had left behind in Beacon Hills.  "Tell me about your Stiles.  Tell me what happened." 

     "Is that really what you want to know?"  Juun asks, an eyebrow raised curiously.  "Is that really what you want to ask?  I would have expected you to talk about the fangs and the claws, and me not apparently being human."

      There was a note of accusation in her voice, at the way that Stiles haphazardly accepted her shifting.  Stiles knew the danger there; in admitting that he knew about Weres.  For what were the chances that they would find a guy who not only looks like someone they used to know, but knew about the existence of Werewolves too? 

     In as calm a voice as he could manage, Stiles turns to speak to her.  "I have a feeling that the answer's in the story too, isn't it?   In the story of what happened to this guy named Stiles.  So why don't you tell me the story first?  I'll panic about monstrous creatures later."           

     "Okay."  Isaac says, nodding more to himself than anything else.  Juun turns to face him sharply, eyes wide with surprise.  Apparently the girl was staggered by Isaac's assent.  Stiles wondered why.  "It happened over six years ago.  I woke up to find that our whole world had fallen apart." 

 

***

 

     The world was a series of blurred lines for a very long time.  Isaac felt like he was flying, or forever falling, or floating in mid air while spinning out of control.  Sharp, stinging, pain wracked his body, occasionally pulling him into a consciousness filled with a bright light and dissonant sounds.  Someone was calling a name, and the sound of it worked to pull him out of his daze. 

     "Isaac!"  The voice called, desperately and gently all at once. 

    "Please, Isaac!"  The voice cried.

     But the void was stronger, the darkness that filled his vision, and the easiness of floating in this nothingness was far more tempting than the voice could ever be.  But then he felt a tender brushing on his person, a cool wetness that caressed his too-hot skin.  This was familiar to him.  This meant something to him.  It was the brushing of lips, of the caressing of a slick tongue.  Isaac breathes out into the kiss as he felt water fall on his cheeks.

     "Isaac."  The lips spoke into his skin, caressing his cheek, pressing onto his mouth.  "Please, Isaac." 

     There were rough, slick hands that caressed his cheek.  Hands that travelled upwards to run fingers through his hair.  But the kisses were what drew Isaac back to the ground.  Every time lips touched, Isaac fell deeper into the darkness.  Or perhaps away from it, it was difficult to tell.  But the floating sensation was fading, to only be replaced by a heaviness that pulled at his skin.  He was wrong.  He _was_ falling; falling deeper into a well of pain.  Isaac opens his eyes sharply and gasps for air.

     "Isaac!"  Scott cries, cradling Isaac's face in his hands.  Isaac's eyes searches for his and found golden glowing eyes full of tears.  "Isaac." 

     Scott was kissing Isaac fiercely then, hands cupping his face tightly as if he feared they would fall through his fingers. 

     "It will be alright Scott,"  Deaton assured him while wiping his hands with a dirty rag.  "the arrow pierced quite deeply, but his Were healing and my ministrations were effective.  Now I suggest you turn him back over to his front or have him sit up, reducing the pressure on his back.  The wound still needs time to heal."       

     Shifting their weights, Scott pulls Isaac up and back onto his body, with a soft pillow wedged between them, Scott's arms wound around Isaac's chest. 

     "Scott,"  Deaton warned.  "that won't really help."

     "I'm fine."  Isaac manages to choke out, still dizzy from his ordeal.  He raises a hand to clutch at one of Scott's wrist.  "Don't let go, please.  Don't let go." 

     "I won't.  I'm here."  Scott whispers into his ear before burying his face into the other boy's hair, black tendrils flowing up his arms as he takes as much pain from Isaac as he could manage. 

     With tired, but stronger, eyes, Isaac looks about himself to search for the rest of the pack and to study the room he found himself in.  He saw a dark green rug thrown over a dark, wooden floor, and dark brown wooden walls that were darker in the dim yellow lamp light.  The room was littered with dark green sofas, and a bookcase stood at one side of the room across a small T.V. on top of a small cabinet.  There was a glass table that had been pushed to the side, with Deaton's things piled on top of it. 

     "We're at my house."  Scott whispers in his ear.  "We went back here."

     "The others?"  Isaac asks.

     "Boyd's over there."  Scott says, pointing to the unconscious Were lying down on the couch.  "Allison hit him in the leg with this ninja thing, a kunai.  It was laced with wolfsbane, but there wasn't a lot of it.  Deaton was able to help him.  Erica's in the kitchen with Derek.  Peter went out to look for Cora."

     "What happened?" 

     Tightening his arms around the boy between them, Scott breathes into his skin before answering.  "Allison shot you.  She shot you."

     "And she'll pay."  A harsh voice says. 

     "Derek."  Isaac says, looking up at the angry alpha.  "No, wait..."

     Looking down at him, Derek grimaces.  "As of right now, it's open season on the Argents." 

     "Derek..."  Scott starts but Derek cuts him off with a roar.  "Derek!  She's pack!"

     "She forfeited that title the moment she went after Isaac."  He growls.  "How are you still defending her?"

     "Because it doesn't make sense.  There's something else that we're missing, there's got to be..."

    "Listen to him Derek."  Deaton interjects calmly.  "Let cooler heads prevail."

    "This isn't a discussion."  He bites back before turning to fix Scott with a glare.  "You.  Will.  Fall.  In.  Line."  He says through the red eyes of an alpha. 

     Scott clenches his hands into fists on Isaac's shirt, eye shimmering gold before turning a deep, blood red.  "No!"  He growls.  "Not with this.  I agreed with what you said about Stiles back at the loft.  To push him out to keep him safe.  That keeping him ignorant would stop him from being a target.  But not with this.  Not with Allison."

     For a moment, surprise freezes Derek's features.  Beside him, Erica gasps, staring in surprise at Scott's eyes. 

     After a long tense moment of silence, Derek growls.  "This is happening with or without you.  You can try and stop me if you want, but one way or another, there's going to be a dead body by dawn." 

     Derek turns and marches out of the house with barely contained fury.  Erica gives Scott a lingering look before turning to stare at an unconscious Boyd on the sofa.  "I'm sorry Scott, but he's right."  She says, not looking him in the eye before turning to follow the alpha out of the door. 

     "Erica!"  Isaac gasps as she walks out, trying to force himself to his feet, but Scott's hands were like iron bars against his chest.

     "Isaac, stop.  Calm down..."  Scott begins to say, tightening his grip around the struggling Were. 

     And then Isaac stopped struggling. 

     For one moment relief washes over Scott, believing that Isaac had complied.  But in the second that followed, Isaac Lahey vomits a fountain of black blood.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have other chapters written out. But I'm going to be using them as a buffer to intermittently post throughout the coming weeks. Just in case I stumble onto another block while writing out more of the story. Even while working within an outlined plot that happens. :/
> 
> Also, I know. I still have to really edit this fic. I'll find the time, I swear!


	6. Whose Looks were Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac's story continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided regular updates of this are Monday evenings. 
> 
> Title from: Des'ree - Darwin Star
> 
> P.S. I know these chapters are short (about only 3000 words long), but I'm going to move things around and add some more stuff to make them larger (at least, after this one). For now, bear with the brevity. Hopefully the content is still there as opposed to just 3000 empty words on the page.

     Stiles listened to the Were's story attentively, his heart rising in tempo to pound aggressively against his chest.  He knew that the Weres were studying him and his every reaction to Isaac's story, but Stiles found it difficult to control his reactions as properly as he wished, being far too interested in knowing where the story would go. 

     "You're going to have to tell me more than that, you know."  Stiles says before he can stop himself.

     "What do you mean?"  Isaac asks.

     "You're telling the story with the assumption that I know who these people are, that they mean something to me, and that I know what the hell's going on in the story."  Stiles states.  He did of course, he could remember what had happened earlier that night from his perspective; having to relieve the experience in his nightmares that change and shift persistently, torturing his unconscious mind with varying scenarios of what could have and should have been.  "You haven't really explained why the people in your story did what they did."

      Stiles resisted the urge to take a breath, at taking the time he wanted to gather the courage to ask the next series of questions.  These questions were hitting closer to home, at desires within him that were becoming difficult to suppress.  But the curiosity burned in his mind at knowing 'why'. 

     "You're going to have to tell me more about Allison and why she shot you.  And then what you meant by Scott's eyes.  What were Derek and him talking about?"  Stiles rambled.  "You kinda just jumped into this story with all these details which you seem to be assuming that I would already know everything about." (He did.  But they mustn't know that.) 

      Isaac looked at him with broken eyes before turning them down to stare at the table.  "It hurts you know, when you say that." 

     "I'm sorry."  Stiles couldn't help but say, stomping down the very words he wanted to speak deep into the depths of his heart.

     "It's like you have the same face, mostly.  But the way you smell, it's the same.  It's family to me. Then the words that come out of your mouth, they're like lashes from a whip that just tear me apart every time you speak."  He said. 

     Juun leaned over her companion and buried her face in his neck, Isaac leaning his head on her's in turn.  Stiles resisted the urge to lean forward to grasp at Isaac's shaking hands. 

     "I don't honestly know how to handle this situation right now."  Isaac says quietly.  "We buried you Stiles... our Stiles.  There was a body and it had your face.  It smelled of smoke, fire, and a hint of blood.  What you were, everything that you were, was in that lifeless corpse we buried deep in the ground." 

     "I used to work at a graveyard you know.  I was the one who dug your grave."  He said turning to look at Stiles with shocking blue eyes.  "I was... I was also the first one to find your body.  How it felt, it was just..."

     Isaac chocked on his words, eyes closing fiercely shut, while Juun reached over a hand to clutch at Isaac's own, tense, hands.  Stiles remained still and quiet, listening to the Were's words.  Deaton had told him very little of the funeral, refusing to delve into the morbidity the conversation would entail.

     "Let the dead rest in peace Stiles.  They don't need to know of the misery they left behind."  The vet had said to shut Stiles' stream of questions when he had asked. 

     But a part of Stiles had always been curious about that day, wondering about what his life had been worth to the people around him; from the part of him that refused to throw away the bonds of pack.  But now, listening to Isaac's shaking hands and the grief in his words, Stiles started to suspect that Deaton may have been right all along. 

     "It's alright, you don't..."  Stiles began but Isaac cuts off his words with a wave.

     "Not.  It's fine.  I want you to understand."  He says breathlessly.  "I don't know what this is, or what you are.  This whole situation is... impossible.  It feels... worse... than having a conversation with a grave.  A part of me thinks that it might be cathartic to talk about this with you... whoever you are.  That maybe there's a reason why you look like him, why you smell like him.  But talking about that night is harder than I thought.  So many things went wrong that night."

 

 

***

 

     Isaac was greeted by a blinding white light the next time he woke.  His senses were overcome by sounds and smells that muddled his mind.  Isaac stared at the light in silence, wondering who he was.

     "Isaac."  A faint voice called from behind the light, muted by the persistent river of noise that clogged his brain .  "Isaac, can you hear me?"

     Isaac squinted his eyes, working to block out the light and reach the words that called that name. 

     "Isaac."  He whispered the unfamiliar name.

     "Yes.  Can you hear my voice?"  The light asked. 

     "Barely.  There's too much sound."  Isaac muttered while trying to lift his numb hands.  "I can't... I can't move my arms." 

     "It's alright, that's likely an effect of the poison.  We've expunged it from your system.  As far as I know your healing has kicked in.  You'll have control of your limbs shortly."  The light said.

     "I don't remember anything.  Who am I?"  Isaac asked.

     But the voice didn't speak and the crashing sounds in his ear overwhelmed him.  Isaac doesn't know when he came out of that blinding light, how long it took for the cacophony of sounds to fade, or when he remembered his name.  But he found Scott there beside him, pulling him into a hug as Isaac's body jolted up at the memories that suddenly flooded him.

    "Derek!"  He cried.

    "It's okay I've got you."  Scott said, whispering softly in his ears.  "I'm here.  I've got you."

     "Where's Derek?  What happened?"  Isaac asked, a bundle of naked panic in a dimly lit room.

     "You've been out for a couple of hours.  You suddenly had this seizure and vomited a fountain of black blood, and... god Isaac." Scott says, voice cracking.  "I thought you were going to die." 

     "Why aren't I?  I don't understand.  I just... I remember waking up not knowing who I was or what was going on.  And everything was so bright and loud and... then it just stopped."  Isaac mumbled in Scott's arms. 

     "You were poisoned Isaac."  Deaton said from the door before walking towards Isaac.  "It's an interesting poison, Datura Stramonium, particularly for Weres."

     "Jimson weed."  The vet clarifies at the confused look on both of their faces.  "Practically every part of the plant is poisonous.  It was particularly popular with murderers in Europe during the middle ages because of its potency.  But treated differently, it can also be quite the hallucinogenic.  But for Weres, the effects are quite interesting.  In both humans and Weres, disorientation and delusions are common symptoms, and the plant has even been used to induce visions.  But Weres find their senses thrown into chaos and their memories muddled.  Unlike in humans, Weres cannot be killed by the poison alone.  But if left untreated past a certain length of time, it can render a Were permanently incapacitated.  It causes a Were to go mad, Isaac.  It was fortunate that I was here to treat you quickly, otherwise..."

     "Allison."  Isaac breathed, "she did this to me?"

     "It would seem so."  Deaton said seriously.

     "I don't understand why she's doing this.  It's not like her."  Scott said, climbing on to the bed to pull Isaac tighter into his arms.

     "My previous experience with Ms. Argent does find this whole situation rather questionable.  But then again, I do not know her as well as you or your friends, Scott.  What I do know is that as an Argent, she would have the knowledge and the training to treat her weapons with poisons effective against Weres."  Deaton said with irritating calm.  "And Scott, I checked the arrowhead that was embedded in Isaac's back to find the steel treated with the poison.  I found it in the kunai that she used against Vernon Boyd as well.  He has been similarly treated before it could reach the stage it did with Isaac and is unconscious in the bedroom at the other end of the hall.  I have to say, I admire that boy's ability to suffer silently." 

     "Training or not, she's pack."  Isaac declared.  "I can't believe she would do something like this... at least not willingly."

     "Does your disbelief persist even when there's an arrow sticking out of your back?"  Deaton said with a raised brow.  "I admire your loyalty, Isaac, but that degree of loyalty could very well cost you your life." 

     The two Weres said nothing and just held each other in the dim light of Scott's bedroom. 

     "Can you give us a minute?"  Scott asks.

     "Of course.  I believe some coffee is in order."  He said, clapping his hands, before walking out of the door with a smile. 

     "Isaac,"  Scott began but was quickly silenced by a desperate kiss.  Scott clutched at Isaac's elbows and slowly pushed him away.  "We have to talk about this."

     "It's Allison, Scott."  Isaac breathes against Scott's neck. 

     "I know.  But, I don't know what to do."  Scott says with a tired sadness in his voice.  "I don't know what to do." 

     "It's going to be fine.  All we have to do is talk to her.  It's all a misunderstanding.  That whole thing with her dad... you believe me right?"  Isaac asks pleadingly, pulling back to look at Scott in the eyes.

     After a long while of just looking at the Were's eyes, Scott looks away.  "I don't know." 

     Scott pulls Isaac's arms away from around his chest and stands up.  Isaac doesn't stop him.  He walks towards the door and stops before a quick glance at Isaac's nude figure on his bed.  "But I'm going to find out.  I'm going to stop this.  It's going to be alright."

     Naked on his lover's bed, Isaac watches Scott walk away with a heavy heart. 

     The silence in the room was overwhelming, worse than the noise that had greeted him when he first awoke.  This silence pulled Isaac into his own mind where he lost himself in the myriad of memories of the experiences that occurred that day.  The confrontation with Chris had burned itself in his memories.  Although the bruises had now faded, the punches lingered in his mind.  But Allison's eyes that evening was worse.  Her refusal to talk and the murderous intent behind her eyes left scars longer than the poison in his system.       

     It takes him a while before he musters enough desire to pull himself out of the bed and the misery that threatened to engulf his entire being.  Raiding Scott's wardrobe, he changes into the Were's clothes before making his way downstairs.  He checks on a sleeping Boyd in Mrs. McCall's bedroom before heading down and calling for the vet but was only met by an empty house.

     It was half past three in the morning when the McCall residence phone rang. 

     Isaac ignored the phone at first as it rang six times, but no voicemail was left.  When it rang again, Isaac chose to pick up after the fifth ring.  It was Scott's mom.  She couldn't reach Scott's cell phone and was desperately hoping to reach him at home.  Isaac asks why, fear bubbling in his gut. 

     She said there was a fire.

     Two badly burned bodies were found.

     His first thought was Scott and Allison.  But shame filled him when he was proven wrong. 

     One of them was Stiles.

     Isaac doesn't know what she said next, too busy being lost in the red light that burned his sight.  Then there were only brief flashes of consciousness; of trees that quickly zipped by, of the feel of the earth in his hands, of the wind lashing at his face.  It was the smell of the smoke and the light of the fire that cowed the creature within him.  Tall, red, flames rose high, fiercely lapping at the night sky.  The stars and the moon were completely obscured by the dull, moving, waves of dark smoke. 

     The smell of charred wood filled Isaac's nostrils.  The sounds of sirens, of a cacophony of whispers and cries, filled his ears.  Deep orange and red light danced in the darkness before his eyes, and his wolf was afraid.  Isaac Lahey, the boy, took one tentative step out of the woods that overlooked Stiles' house.  There was another step that followed before the boy was running towards the fire, the wolf within him fighting to run the other way, too frightened to discover what lay within the dancing light. 

     He moved past bustling spectators and worried neighbours gawking at the flames painting the evening scene until moving to a stop before the burning house.  The stench of the smoke was strongest here, and the heat lapped at his skin as if it were taunting his presence.  Chaos surrounded him as firefighters fought the flames while men in uniform tried to control the sheer number of people making their way into the streets to gawk at the catastrophe.  But within the discord Isaac heard Stiles' name being uttered by a man to his left.  He automatically turned towards the sound to be greeted by an ambulance not far from him.  There were two men there, talking to one another, talking about the son of the sheriff that lay beyond the white, metal doors of the ambulance beside them.  But then the two men left, leaving the ambulance unattended and unnoticed by the crowd who still moved closer to the blaze, awed by the fire. 

     But Isaac was mesmerized by the ambulance, for behind its doors stood a greater tragedy than the flames and smoke that filled the night.  The boy walked towards it then, numb from the senses that bombarded his being.  He was jostled and pushed as men and women passed him, but he ignored them all.  They were small.  The light was dim.  The smoke was dull.  The possibility of what laid beyond those closed, white, doors, was a far stronger beacon that beckoned him forward and it dulled everything else.  No one stopped him as he stood in front of those doors.  No one stopped him as he reached forward to pull the handle open.  No one stopped him as he stepped inside. 

     The cab light was off, the inside of the ambulance only lit by the light of the fire that blazed wildly in the night.  Isaac's eyes were pulled towards the large black bag that lay still in the middle of the cab.  He took a tentative step forward, the wolf within him whining at what could lay inside of it.  Disbelief warred with the overwhelming desire to know, to confirm, to see for himself.  Isaac stepped into the cab and moved to sit beside the black cadaver pouch.  He reached forward and clutched the zipper with unusually steady hands.  Isaac's mind was numbed as he pulled the zipper down. 

     An onslaught of scents hit him the moment he pulled the bag open.  The cab was soon filled by the acrid stench of burned flesh, cloth, and hair.  But the stench was nothing to the sight.  The dissonance outside existed in a distant shore for the sight before him took hold of Isaac's being and tore it apart.  In the lifeless corpse before him, past the charred skin and the burned hair, was Stiles' face.  Isaac drops to his knees before the body, his hands shooting forward to clutch at the bag. 

     There was a sound that filled the room then.  It thrummed deep in his ears.  It was a whimpering sound, a deep wracking sound, that tore at his heart.  It filled the cab and echoed in its walls.  There were gasps and whimpers, but Isaac paid them no attention as his hands moved to hover over the lifeless face before him.  The wolf within him was shocked to stillness, and Isaac grasped at the peace to make sense of the sight before him. 

     This was not the boy in his life.  This was not the boy in his pack.  This was a lifeless body that only bore a passing resemblance to Stiles.  It must be.  Because it couldn't be him, dead, lifeless, and stolen from them.  His Stiles would speak.  His Stiles would joke.  His Stiles would flail and freak out at the resemblance of the body that lay before him.  But a nagging part within Isaac continued to press the issue of that resemblance.  A part of him that already begun to grieve at what had been lost.  

     But then there was a struggle, and then bodies were jostled and moved.  It took him a moment to realize it was his.  That the sounds he had heard earlier had come from him.  That the punches being thrown were his fists flailing in the air.  There were men and women that touched him, pulling at him, stopping him from clambering back over to where his friend lay.  To where the body of a pack member was.  To where family lay.  This began to pull his wolf out of its stillness and Isaac could feel the rage bubbling up inside of him.  A rage Isaac was more than willing to surrender to.  But then he was thrown to the side, by what or who he did not know, and before Isaac could stagger to his feet, some kind of powder was blown into his face.  Then the fire disappeared into the darkness of that fateful night.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, some of you pointed out some of my mistakes and I'm so embarrassed. >.


	7. Wise Man'll Tell You A Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton asks Isaac to act. A confrontation in an abandoned mall hints at darker things. A death is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. 
> 
> Chapter title from Song: "Blue Eyes" by Cary Brothers.
> 
> I was torn between the title above or naming the chapter "A Single Tragic Scene" since they're both fitting enough.

     It was with great trepidation that Isaac opened his eyes.  He relished the haze of sleep that brushed at the edges of his consciousness, allowing him a reprieve from the torment he was sure that stood on the other side.  He was in the precipice of lucidity, a foot still firmly planted in a dream; a dream that found Isaac in the company of his friends, of his family.  He had Scott in one hand and Allison at the other.  Before him stood the smiling faces of his pack, and around him the joyous echoes of laughter from happier, simpler days.  But reality began to threaten that dream.  He knew of what lay beyond the smiles and his company, and it was a place that he dreaded with every fibre of his being.  For every second that passed, the dream began to slip from his fingers and the laughter began to fade.  It was with heartbreaking regret that the hands that held his slipped from his fingers and the boy before him was swallowed by the light. 

     "Lately, you've adopted an exasperating habit of slipping out of consciousness, Mr. Lahey.  If I do say so, it is a habit that one must break."  A familiar voice behind the light said.  "Although to be fair, the latest was due to my own actions.  I apologize, but you were losing control.  How do you feel now?"

     It was a slow crawl of memories that crept into his mind, of fire and smoke in the darkness, and of charred skin that held a familiar face.  Isaac shut his eyes as tears threatened to fall.  His own voice hitched in his throat as the light once again called his name.

     "Isaac.  I'm sorry you had to see that."  The light said with clear regret.  "But you must hold yourself back, there are others that need you.  Isaac, Scott and Allison need you."

     At the sound of their names, Isaac's eyes flew wide open and the bright light pierced his eyes.  Blinking rapidly and covering his eyes with his hands, Isaac pushes himself up to a sitting position and waited for his sense of sight to settle. 

     "Deaton.  What happened?"  He asked, voice as brittle as thin shards of glass.  "Where am I?"

     "You are in Mr. McCall's house.  I brought you back here after..."  Deaton said, his voice trailing off in the end.    

     Looking about he finds himself back in Scott's room, the familiar walls and colours doing nothing to ease the persistent ache in his chest.  The house was silent save for the dull keening of light bulbs, the even breathing of two men, and the harsh echo of steady heartbeats in an empty house.  Deaton's words linger in the air, attempting to draw out the wolf before him from his shell-shocked slumber.  The nightmare memories of the night stood vanguard before any possibility of a better tomorrow; for how can there ever be a better tomorrow with everything that had been lost?

     "I found you there, in the fire, as those men dragged you out of the ambulance.  You were losing control, I had to take measures to make sure you would not hurt anyone.  You were starting to shift.  I stopped you before anyone noticed.  But right now, I have heard that another potential tragedy might strike if we do not act soon and act fast."      The vet presses.  "We have to go.  Scott has gone to confront Derek Hale just as the alpha in turn moves to confront the Argents with your pack." 

     "They don't know."  Isaac says lamely, voice low and defeated.

     The statement brought his misery to the forefront of his mind and his heart clenched at the fire in his memories.  Isaac found the relative silence of the house an odd contrast to the tragedy he had witnessed.  In his mind, if the walls could weep, they should.  If the wood could scream, they would.  This was a misery that Isaac did not wish to share, but needed to portion for the sheer weight of it was crushing his soul.  There were thoughts in his head that drove him into a spiral of guilt and shame as he wished for the others to know of the tragedy, so they may lift and share the burden of his misery.  There was a part of him that wished to see the tears and despair of others so he could qualify his own pain; for misery loves company, and Isaac's sorrow seeks the companionship of other souls equal in wretchedness.          

     "No."  The vet says after a few seconds, his voice low but strong and resonant within the bedroom walls.  "But this could very well be the thing that stops any more blood from spilling tonight." 

     "Or it could make things worse."  Isaac replies, wrapping his arms around himself.  "Deaton, he's... gone.  His body was there... his face... and I lost control.  This will just make things worse." 

     "I don't think so."  Deaton says, shaking his head.  "A tragedy of this magnitude could very well be the force that prevents this situation from escalating even further.  Perhaps grief shall delay the anger from bubbling up to the surface." 

     "Or it could just become another reason for them to tear each other apart."  Isaac whispers.  "I don't understand why this is happening.  Why is this happening?"

     Isaac desperately looks up at Deaton's face to find the man wearing a very curious expression on his face; calculating and concerned. 

     "How can so much bullshit happen in one day?  It's like I'm in a fucking nightmare and I can't wake up.  I want to wake up."  He pleaded, as if the man before him could grant his wish.    

     "Stiles' death will supersede any vendettas this night.  Scott and Derek will take the time to see the truth for themselves, and then they will mourn.  Even the impetuous Ms. Argent would put this conflict aside for the time being.  Of this I am certain.  But you need to be there to tell them the truth.  They must see your grief."  Deaton explained.  "If you want to wake up from this nightmare Isaac, you must do it with the others, together."    

     "The Sheriff, Stiles' dad."  Isaac began, "he could-"

     "He's dead, Isaac."  Deaton said.  "He was in the fire too."

     Isaac heard the truth in the even beating of the Vet's heart, and it broke his own down even further.  It was this truth, of the death, compounded with the other that bolstered Isaac's resolve.  There had been enough death that night and Isaac knew his sanity would not be able to endure any more.  He was certain that the series of unfortunate events that occurred throughout the whole day could very well lead to even more misery than Isaac could take.  Armed with a temporary sense of purpose, the young Were's eyes lit up fiercely with focus.  This purpose did not stem from courage as much as it stemmed from a desperate act to hold on to what was left of his heart and his sanity.  Gripping the edge of a cushion tightly, he looks into Deaton's face with shining, blue, eyes.     

     "Let's go."      

     They found them in the dark, in a broken down, dust strewn, abandoned mall.  How Deaton knew the others to be there, Isaac did not know.  But he was grateful and relieved that it had been so quick.  Moonlight seeped through large broken windows and skylights, pushing back the darkness and illuminating the battle worn souls underneath.    

     Derek, with Boyd and Erica flanking his back, stared down four hunters, six with the Argents in their presence, while Peter and Cora were nowhere to be seen.  Scott stood in no man's land, at the foot of a derelict escalator, his hands extended towards both parties.  Allison, her father, and the hunters stood at the top of the escalator, studying the scene below.  Allison stood poised to shoot, her bow strung and pulled taught, aiming at her lover's heart. 

     At the top, the hunters had judged those below to death just as those below judged those above to the same fate.  Scott stood between them, judging himself.  The drumhead was at an impasse, while Isaac and Deaton ran out of time.   

     "Scott, move."  Allison said through gritted teeth, but her face held no evidence of her rage, a mask of resolve and focus. 

     "Allison, please."  Scott pleaded, his eyes conveying the yearning in his heart.  "We can just talk.  This is..."

     "What needs to be done."  Chris said, interrupting him.  "The Hale pack has gone feral.  We have to protect the people of this town from the likes of you." 

     Derek's roar echoes throughout the space, displacing dust with his booming voice.  The hunters twitched at the sound, their grips tightening on their guns and their bows.  Chris stands calmly with a smile on his face, staring the Alpha down. 

     "You're just proving my point."  Chris said simply. 

     The rage bubbled up in Derek's gut, his anger spilling over to consume the two wolves next to him.  Their eyes glowed, Derek's a fierce, blood red, the others a shining, golden, amber.  The three roared in unison and crouched down to spring.  Scott turns to look at them and yells out a warning that fall on deaf ears.  Or rather, unheard due to the deafening resonance of their fury. 

     It was quick.  Derek darts forward at an astonishing speed towards the hunters just as Allison lets loose her arrow.  Scott moves to tackle Derek to the ground just as the arrow comes precipitously close to Scott's back.  A millimetre more, a breath of a hair, a piece of string, and it would have made its way to pierce his heart.  But a flash of light blinds all of them just as the booming sound of thunder filled the room.  Derek finds himself thrown back to his pack, while Allison's arrow veers to the side and imbeds itself in a broken wall before exploding in a spark of flame.  Scott stands dumbfounded in the middle of the two parties, with a calm Deaton next to him who's blood trailed down from his ears. 

     "Deaton!"  Isaac calls and rushes to the man, unsure of what he had just witnessed, and afraid of what it might have been. 

     "I'm alright Isaac."  Deaton says calmly as he produces a handkerchief from his pocket which he uses to clean his blood.  "Derek and Scott will be fine as well."

     "Deaton."  Chris says with surprising disdain.  The vet calmly returns the man's glare with an impassive look of his own.  "This is none of your business."

     "Oh, but I believe it is."  Deaton says coolly before folding his bloodied handkerchief and placing it back into his pocket.  Isaac calmly walks over to stand beside him and a still surprised Scott.  "I'm afraid I can't let you execute Mr. McCall.  It is not an easy task to replace a competent assistant."

     "Doc?"  Scott asks surprised, his head swivelling to stare at the vet in surprise before turning to watch Derek, Boyd, and Erica clamber to their feet.  "Isaac?"

     "What are you?  What was that?"  Allison asks, confused, her focus slipping away.  She looks at the vet warily, clutching her bow tighter in her hands. 

     "I'm a Veterinarian."  Deaton says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

     A harsh growl sounded behind them, echoed by two lower rumbles. 

     "This is not your concern."  Derek roars in his deep, booming, alpha voice. 

     "I believe I've already stressed that it is."  Deaton replies. 

     "So what, you're taking a side?  Theirs?"  Chris asks acidly, his hand tightening on his gun. 

     Deaton looks pointedly at Chris for a few seconds before the hunter relaxes his grip, the hunter's eyes betraying his frayed nerves.  Deaton calmly replies.  "No.  But I am pushing for a peaceful resolution.  At the very least for a reprieve, for an armistice."

     "Under who's authority?"  A nameless hunter asks roughly, his lip curled up into a permanent grimace from a scar that ran all the way from mouth to ear.  "Who the hell are you?"

     Deaton calmly takes a step forward, his eyes still trained on Chris' face.  Slowly and bowing down slightly, the vet purses his lips and blows out along gust of air.  The dust on the floor before him shifts and rises in the air into an unnaturally deep cloud of earth before settling back down onto the floor.  It takes a moment for all of them to realise that the settling dust on the floor had been shifted into a shape; a drawing that bore a resemblance to a double spiralled letter 's'.

     Three of the hunters lowered their guns at seeing the symbol on the ground before turning to each other and mumbling, seemingly, in distress.  Allison studies the symbol on the ground, her face impassive.  Derek stands at attention, claws retracting back to his fingers, his features reverting back to a human face. 

     "Well, well.  What a fascinating turn of events."  A voice calls out in the darkness before Peter steps out of the shadows not far from where the Hunters stood, a young black haired girl following in his wake.  The hunters startle in surprise at his presence, and the scar-faced man turns to train his gun at the elder-Were. 

     "Drop it Joey."  Another hunter says before stepping forward to push the scar-faced man's gun down to point at the ground.  "Not right now." 

     "What does that mean?"  Scott says softly to Deaton, stepping around the man to study the symbol on the floor.  Isaac steps forward beside him and takes Scott's hand in his.  Above them, Allison's fingers twitches at the sight. 

     "Not you're concern, Scott.  At least, not right now."  Deaton says simply before waving a hand in the air to cause the symbol of dust to smear on the ground. 

     "What do you want?"  The man who took Joey's gun asks, stepping forward to study Deaton with critical eyes.  The man called Joey seemed to defer to this man, going as far as bowing his head in shame and clipping his gun back on its holster. 

     Peter and Cora quickly move themselves around to a flight of stairs to make their way down to the pack.  Boyd and Erica move to meet them at the foot of the stairs, and the two whisper questions at the elder Hale.  Cora moves to stand beside her brother, her hand reaching forward to cusp one of his hands with her own.  Derek still stands motionless, at full attention, staring at where the symbol on the ground had been.  Briefly, for a moment, his eyes flashed the scarlet, alpha, red.   

     "As I said, a reprieve.  There are other matters that need our attention.  It will especially be of concern to the Hale pack and Ms. Argent.  It certainly would to her father."  He said, nodding to Allison before turning a critical eye on Chris.    

     "What are you talking about?"  She asks, perturbed, before stepping closer to her father and taking his hand into hers.  The older Argent seemingly startles at the contact, and glances at Allison in surprise before training his attention back to the vet below as if nothing unusual had happened. 

     "Isaac."  Deaton says softly before nodding at him. 

     Isaac tightens his hand over Scott's, causing the were to look at him curiously.  For a moment, Isaac rests his forehead on Scott's shoulder, the weight of his thoughts overwhelming him.  But when he looked up and looked at every member of his pack in turn, before training his eyes on Derek, his heart was steady and his voice was dreadfully calm.  There was an emptiness in his voice, a grudging acceptance of tragic things.  He tightened his grip on Scott's hands as he spoke the words, afraid that it would slip through his fingers just as it had in his dream; or his nightmare. 

     His tight, even, words echoed in the dimly lit hall.  It passed through long forgotten walls and unkempt rooms.  It hung in the emptiness like fresh shadows amongst the barren halls.  Multiple pairs of eyes widened not at his words, but at the even beating of his heart.  There were sharp intake of breaths, harried gasps, and empty stares.  There were tears that threatened to spill and denials that echoed in the air.  Scott's hand went limp as he looked into his lover's tired eyes. 

     But amongst the commotion, the absence of what should have been was clearer than everything that was, and could have been, done.  For Derek Hale stood still, staring at where the symbol had been in the ground.  There were no red eyes, no distressed whimpers that escaped his lips, no accusation of lies and denial of truths.  Derek Hale stood clutching his sister's hand, staring at the dust in the ground, his heart deepening its beats like heavy stones beating on a drum. 

     There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done.  The truth could be heard in the beating of Isaac's heart.

     Stiles was dead, gone, and burned.  In the retreating light of the moon, in the darkness of those dead halls, the truth of it tore them all apart.        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I still haven't edited the other chapters. But I did with this chapter! (let's see if it's any good). 
> 
> Will keep up with the work soon.


	8. Painted Faces Fill the Places I Can't Reach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes a decision. He talks to his kids. Juun makes a decision that changes things; for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I edited the first three chapters. Even changed the "heart rape" thing. But slow and steady. 
> 
> Anyways, I have a buffer of about five chapters after this. That's not including the ending that I've already written. But that could still change depending on what I write in the middle. But yeah... I already have the end game i mind. 
> 
> Title's from: Kings of Leon "Use Somebody"

     Time.  It was a luxury Stiles wishes he could afford more of.  He wanted more time with Derek; more hours to be his lover, to lie peacefully in his arms, to be lost in his touch.  He wanted more time with his father; to be that child that was cared for, that was loved unconditionally, to relish that particular bond of family.  He wanted more time for his children to live as they are; wide-eyed innocence that held a macroscopically magical view of the world as something wondrously sincere and exciting, to be guilty only of child-like, harmless, naiveté.  But at this moment, Stiles wishes he could take back the time he had spent with Isaac.  He had enough guilt and pain from his past to add more.  Everything he had thought a few hours ago, everything that he had wanted from this, had been all wrong.    

     Isaac had grown quiet and morose while Juun sat pensively beside him, studying Stiles with a sharp eye.  Stiles' mind was racing due to Isaac's story, his emotions were chaotic and confused; want warring with need.  At this point in Stiles' life, both existed as mutually exclusive entities.  Beside all of his wants was an intense need to leave that was fuelled by the raging anger that began to push aside every other emotion that rambled inside of him.  Unlike the Weres before him, Stiles knew he did not have the ability nor was savvy enough to detect lies.  But Stiles believed Isaac's words to be, at the least, delusional fantasies or, at most, bald faced lies; for Isaac had spun a tale of grief that did not coincide with the truth Stiles had experienced in the past.  It was Derek that had cut their bond.  The alpha's words had cut deeply in his heart to sever the ties of family he had affixed to the pack.  It was Scott who had walked away.  His friend's silence the deafening roar of rejection that he had never expected from one he had called brother.  Isaac's description of grief from those who had broken his sanity was an insult that Stiles could not take.

     The two Weres sensed the shift in Stiles' mood.  Isaac stared at him with startled eyes, while Juun narrowed hers and began to growl.  Stiffening his spine, Stiles ignores both. 

     Shooting up from where he stood, he looks Isaac squarely in the eyes.  "I don't need to hear this, any of this, not anymore.  Cathartic for you or not, I don't need to hear it.  I don't want or need to know anything.  Not anymore."

     "Stiles...."  Isaac pleaded.

      "Robert."  Stiles snapped, "just... I'm sorry about what you've lost.  But this whole thing... and what you are or what I think you are, I don't care anymore.  I don't need the complication that this brings.  Look, I have this life and both of you being here and telling me these things... and just doing these things... you can't turn my whole world upside down.  I don't honestly know what I'm supposed to do here with the two of you.  But I do know that I have a life that I can't leave behind."

     Stiles knew what he had to say, and he knew he would be able to say it with a conviction that would dash Isaac's hope.  That was guilt Stiles was more than willing to bear.  "I'm not this Stiles guy in your story.  I'm not the kid that died in it.  I'm not the dead body that you cried over and buried." 

     Stiles sighed, his voice heavy with the exhaustion he felt.  "Werewolves and hunters.  I don't need this crap.  You asked why I stopped to talk to you back there?  Why I haven't been freaking out about your 'fangs and claws'.  I've seen enough crap in my life to know that there's something different out there in the world; crap that a huge part of me wants answers for.  Want, not need.  I don't _need_ the answers that you can give.  I don't _need_ the stories that you can tell."

     _Not anymore_ , he adds in his mind. 

     He watches as Isaac's face fell with every word he spoke, and Juun's eyes grew colder with every declaration he gave.  But Stiles no longer cared.  The burning desire to know that he had earlier had been extinguished by the anger he held close to his chest.  There was a big part of him that knew that he needed Derek, Scott, and the pack; that he needed their presence and their love.  It was something that he could distinguish now from wants.  But it was a need that he would never care to admit out loud; a need that he had to stamp down.  It was a need that had taken so much and could still take a lot.  He could not risk losing any more than he already had.  There were only three loose threads left that still held him together in this world.  He would not risk them for everything that he wanted. 

     Taking the bags of half-eaten food, Stiles turns his back and walks away. 

     He wasn't surprised that no one called his name. 

     Paranoia plagued Stiles the entire trip back to Summit, spending more time checking his rear view mirror than the road in front of him.  He was relieved to find the road behind him empty of any tell-tale blue cars.  A part of him was saddened that that was the case.  But the bigger part of him huffed out a frustrated breath of relief.  His mind was reeling with the events of the day and not even the golden glow of the setting sun and the cooler twilight wind could settle his nerves.  Taking care to park behind his cabin, Stiles hurried inside before falling to his knees to cry and spend the night holding himself together.  The night was short and filled with tears. 

     In the bright light of day, Stiles wakes with a start; the ringing of a phone echoing throughout his small house.  Scrambling to his feet, he staggers towards the phone and answers with a weary voice. 

     "Hey Robbie, it's me."  The sickeningly high-pitched and cheerful voice greeted.  "Good morning."

     "Rachel.  Hey.  What's up?"  He asks wearily, rubbing his eyes. 

     "Oh, the kids just wanna talk to ya." 

     "Is everything alright?"  Stiles asks, now wide awake, concern bleeding through his voice. 

     "Oh, no.  They're fine.  They just miss their daddy is all.  Okay, just hold on a sec."  She replies.

     Stiles hears a rustling sound on the other line before a small, light, voice calls out.  "Hello?"

     "Hey buddy."  Stiles says happily, easily recognizing his youngest son's voice.  "How are ya?"

     "Daddy, I gatta hold a baby squirl!"  Dirk declares gleefully.

     "Oh really?  That's cool buddy.  How'd you get a baby squirrel?"

     "Oh my gosh, it's so soft."  He says breathlessly with wonder.  "Luke found it, from a, a tree.  He keeps on, on, climbing but he won't let me up." 

     "I hope not.  Especially since Luke's not supposed to be climbing trees."  Stiles says seriously. 

     "Luke, you're in trouble!"  Stiles hears Dirk call out on the other end. 

     More rustling and someone grunting in pain sounded on the other line.  Stiles heard Luke call his brother a tattle tail and Rachel reprimanding him for hitting his brother.  It was a soft musical voice that spoke to Stiles next.

     "Daddy, I want to be an actress!"  Ally exclaimed happily.

     "What happened to being a fire fighter?"  Stiles asks, amused.

     "Yeah, but I can be a fire fighter too cause an actress can be anything."  She breathes.  "And oh my gosh, I wish you saw it.  Everyone was clapping so loud." 

      "So the play went well then?" 

      "Bobby Fisher is so stupid and gross.  He kissed me!"  She said, scandalized.  "Then I got in trouble 'cause I pushed him and made him cry.  But _he_ didn't get in trouble for kissing me.  It's not fair!" 

      "She looked so stupid in her big costume!"  Stiles heard Luke call out in the background. 

      "You're stupid!"  His daughter retorted. 

      "Ally, can you get Luke on the phone?"  Stiles asks.  "And don't say stupid."   

      "Daddy, guess what?  Luke punched a boy but he doesn't want me to tell you!"  Ally happily announced before more rustling occurred on the other end of the line. 

      "You're such a tattle tail Ally."  Luke accused. 

      "Luke, buddy.  Stop picking on your brother and sister.  And stop climbing trees.  And stop punching kids."  Stiles says wearily.  "And stop taking off your clothes." 

     "But they're so stupid!  And climbing a tree is fun.  And Dorian is a stupid name and he made fun of Dirk's name so I punched his stupid face.  And clothes are stupid and it was hot!"  Luke whined.

     "Stop saying stupid.  Stupid is not a good word.  Don't call anyone stupid, alright?  And is Dorian the kid you punched?  He was making fun of Dirk?"  Stiles asks surprised, a surge of protective instinct coming over him.  The logical part of his brain was quite aware that punching a little boy himself probably wouldn't be a very good idea, but his more unreasonable side thought it quite fair. 

     "He's this stup- I mean, dumb rich kid who started making fun of Dirk.  Dirk was making a dinosaur and Dorian stole it and broke it.  So when we were out hiking I punched him in his stup- I mean, dumb face."  Luke said angrily. 

     "He made Dirk cry.  Dirk isn't a stupid name.  Dorian is a stupid name."  He added, as if it made everything alright. 

     A feeling of warmth spread throughout Stiles body, and his lips twitched into a smile.  This was one of those parenting moments where he was torn between complimenting his kid or reprimanding him.  Although he wasn't proud of Luke's tendency to resort to violence when angry, he was quite proud of his son's protective tendencies towards his siblings; even if the kid had an inclination towards torturing them himself.  Luke reminded him all too well of... Stiles sighed heavily. 

     "Luke what did I tell you to do every time something made you angry?" 

     "Use my words?  But I did use my words!"  Luke said proudly.  "I did it before I punched him!"

     Stiles stopped himself from chuckling, mainly because he knew exactly what accounted as words in Luke's vocabulary.  "Screaming 'argggh!', doesn't count as using your words.  Especially when you do it right before you punch somebody." 

     "It counts!  It has letters in it!"  Luke argues. 

     "I wanna tawk to daddy!"  Stiles heard Dirk cry out in the background. 

     A sudden thought crossed Stiles mind.  "Wait, Rachel didn't tell me you punched anybody."

     "Oh, she doesn't know.  And you weren't supposed to know.  But it's okay 'cause Dorian's my friend now."  Luke says brightly. 

     "Excuse me?"  Stiles asks, surprised.  "I thought you hated him."

     "Yeah, but I punched him.  So he's my friend now."  Luke explained as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. 

     The statement had Stiles laughing out loud.  "Oh buddy.  I love you."

     "I love you too daddy!"  Luke says brightly.  "Here, talk to Dirk he's being annoying." 

     "Daddy?  I miss you."  Dirk says sadly.

     Stiles heart softened at the tone of his voice.  "Do you want me to come and pick you up?" 

     "No!"  Dirk says, panicking.  "Not yet!  It's so fun here!  And Dorian says he'll help me make more dinosaurs!" 

     "Okay buddy.  I get it."  Stiles chuckles.  "I miss you too.  I love you."

     "I love you daddy.  I'll make you a dinosaur okay?"  He promised.  "Ally wants to talk to you now."

     "So can I be an actress daddy?"  She asks eagerly. 

     "You can be anything you want to be, baby."  He assures her. 

     "Oh my god!  Thank you!  I love you so much!" 

     "Sure thing.  Hey, keep your brothers out of trouble, okay?"  Stiles says.  "You know what happens when they get too excited."

     "Okay, I will."  She says brightly.

     "I love you Ally."  Stiles says tenderly.

     "I love you too daddy.  I miss you." 

     "I miss you too.  I'll see you guys in three weeks.  But we'll talk again soon, okay?  Hey, think I can talk to Rachel for a sec?"  He asks. 

     "Okay."  She says gaily right before Stiles hears Rachel's name being loudly screeched in the background.  Stiles flinches and moves the phone away from his ears.  It takes a minute before Rachel picks up the phone on the other end.

     "What's up Robbie?"  The woman says eagerly. 

     "Jeez, that kid got a set of lungs on her, huh?"  Stiles grumped, his left ear still ringing from his daughter's yell. 

     "Oh, you get used to it.  There's a lot of yelling around these parts."  She chuckles.  "So what can I do ya for?" 

     "Just wondering if you can keep an extra closer eye on the kids for me?  I'd sure appreciate it.  Make sure they don't get into some serious trouble." 

     "Don't worry Robbie, they'll be fine.  I'll keep an eye on them myself."  She replies kindly. 

     "Thanks Rach.  I'll talk to you later, okay?"  Stiles says by way of goodbye before hanging up after Rachel replies.

     His heart drops slightly the moment he hung up the phone, wishing the conversation with his kids had been longer.  But his spirits were significantly higher than the day before.  Hearing his children's voices was just the thing Stiles needed to lift his spirits to get on with the day.  He assured himself that he could get on with his life, once again finding the same resolve he had mustered from six years ago.  Stiles moved to face the day with more determination than before.

     Stiles makes it to the diner ten minutes before opening.  The parking lot was empty except for a few other cars from waiting customers and Sharon's pink '86 sedan DeVille.  Due to playing the conversation he had with his children in his head throughout the morning, it was a cheerful Stiles that walked into the diner and that greeted the great woman.  The day was turning out better than Stiles had hoped.  The breakfast rush wasn't overwhelming and he had no trouble keeping up with the steady stream of orders.  Miraculously, Sharon and Emily even got along; that is, as well as they could.  It wasn't until lunch time rolled around that Stiles' mood turned sour.  Peeking out of the service hatch to call out an order, he finds a familiar almond-eyed girl sitting on the counter fiddling with her cell.  Stiles startles for a moment, staring at Juun with surprise.  The girl notices him within seconds and gives him a wink and a wave before putting her phone away.  Stiles quickly moves back into the kitchen, his bright mood curdling at the sudden presence of the Were. 

 

***

    

     Juun waved at the one who calls himself Robert Bates.  She wasn't entirely convinced of his identity, and continued to find his apparent uncanny resemblance to a dead boy disturbing and all too convenient.  Putting her cell away, she smiles at the cook before the guy blinks in surprise and turns his back.  Juun was about to call out to him when a tall girl sporting a pink pony tail moved in front of her. 

     "What d'ya want?"  The girl asks, chewing her gum obscenely while standing poised to scribble on a dirty brown note pad. 

     "The lunch special is fine."  Juun answers with a forced smile. 

     "You Chinese?"  Emily asks before blowing a small bubble that quickly popped. 

     "Korean."  Juun replies.  "But I was born in Pasadena."

     "They gots a Pasadena in Korean now?"  Emily says, eyes widening in wonder. 

     Juun stares at the girl, not quite knowing what to say or how to feel.  Thankfully the awkward silence was broken by a large woman with a tall hair-do and wide hips. 

     "Move outta the way you pancake."  The large woman says with obvious irritation.  "Get your butt in gear or I swear I'll smack the highlights out of your hair." 

     "Why are you so mean to me Shar?  What'd I ever do to you?"  Emily says with a frown. 

     "Nothing.  That's just it, ain't it?  You do nothing.  And you do that well enough, considering."  She replies harshly and clucks her tongue in irritation.  "Look honey, you don't want me bein' mean to ya?  Well all you gotta do is get outta my face and do your job from where I can't see yours."  The woman says with a nod before turning her back on Emily.

     Facing Juun the woman smiles warmly.  "Hi, sorry about the honey.  She ain't got the good sense God gave a goose.  So, she ain't no better than she oughta be.  Bless her heart.  The name's Sharon.  Now, what can I getcha?"

     "Lunch special."  Juun says with astonishment at the exchanged she had just witnessed. 

     "Coming right up."  She says with a nod and a wink before turning to leave.

     Juun calls her name before the woman walks away.  "Just wondering, what do you know about the cook that works here?"

     "How'd you mean?"  The woman asks suspiciously. 

     "Robert Bates?  I just thought he's real cute and all.  I thought I'd ask around." 

     "Uh huh."  Sharon replies through narrowed eyes.  "He's great.  Model citizen, I tell you what.  Known him for a long time.  He's tough as nails and twice as sharp.  That all then?"

     "Yeah, great.  Thanks."  Juun replies with as wide a smile as she could manage; a smile that slips off her face as soon as the woman had turned her back. 

     Isaac had been having trouble getting out of bed that morning, so lost in his misery that he huddled in the covers and ignored all of Juun's pestering.  She had no choice but to delay their trip to Salt Lake City.  She had called ahead to explain Isaac being ill and that they would be late.  Now having more time in the town, Juun took it upon herself to know more about the guy who shared a dead man's face.  But she found it more difficult than she expected.  Most of the people who were in the diner didn't seem to live in Summit at all and merely transited from other nearby towns and cities to work at the plant.  Those who did know about the man who called himself Robert Bates, either spoke very little or didn't say anything at all.  Meanwhile most of the other men in the diner took it upon themselves to try and woo Juun off her feet.  After one particularly lewd gentleman grabbed Juun's thighs, she quickly finished her meal and paid for it before heading out of the diner.  The alternative would have been surrendering to her wolf's urge to tear out the man's throat with her teeth. 

     She didn't get much from her lunch hour at the diner except to discover that Robert Bates had apparently been here for years, was a very good man, and apparently had the loyalty of much of the people that lived in Summit.  Bristling with frustration, Juun whips out her phone and searches through her contacts to write a message.  Typing quickly, Juun attaches a picture to her text before hitting send.   

     The text message was short and simple.  The picture attached was not.  It was a picture of Robert Bates peeking out of the service hatch and looking directly at her.  The message read:  "Summit, Utah.  The cook for Dave's Diner."  The recipient of said message was one Derek Hale.                 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably tell why I named Stiles' youngest Dirk. At least... I think it's obvious in my head.


End file.
